Deception
by Nylah
Summary: Sequel to 'Conscience'. There's not much a real spy won't do to achieve his goal. But how much of a real spy is Alex when the people he is supposed to spy on seem nice? How can you be friends with someone you know you'll betray in the end?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: NOT Alex X OC!!!

Edit 2/5/2009: Yes, I changed the summary. Seemed that people thought this was another one of those Alex falls in love with Mary Sue story. Not so.

Sequel to my one shot, 'Conscience'.

Started this as another one shot, but it quickly turned out too long for that. So then came the task of splitting it up in chapters, but since it was written as one continuous story, no splitting it up other than simply splitting it at scene changes worked. That's why you get a story with currently 15 short chapters (I need to write the epilogue). On the bright side (or, depending on your view, the down side), since the story is finished and only needs editing, updates should be fairly quick.

Story warning: rated for everything that's listed under FF T rating rules.

Disclaimer: Alex Rider is the property of Mr Anthony Horowitz. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

* * *

**DECEPTION**

**Chapter 1**

* * *

"Jason Carnegie, age, 45. Information security officer for the ministry of defence. Former military, former SAS, former MI5. Served in Northern Ireland, Beirut, Irak. Fifteen years ago he quit, went to university and got a degree in computer science. Worked for various companies, among which, which will interest you, Alex, Sayle Inc. Came to work for the ministry of defence five years ago, to everybody's satisfaction. He is unmarried, his wife died seven years ago in a car accident. He owns a house in Kensington and another one at the Costa Brava in Spain, which he will be at for the coming three weeks of summer."

The photograph showed a blond man who looked younger than his forty-five years. A smiling face, friendly blue eyes. Handsome in an unremarkable sort of way.

"Likes sports. Runs ten kilometres every day when not too busy, plays tennis, does some karate, though he seems to have less time for that lately. As far as we can tell, he's not dating. What caught our attention a while ago, was that he seems to have a lot of money on his hands, more than would seem appropriate for his salary. This was however sufficiently explained as being winnings from a casino."

More pictures, Carnegie entering a building, playing tennis, sitting on a terrace with somebody else, a dark haired man with dark sunglasses. Blunt leaned forward and pointed at the last picture.

"This picture was taken three months ago in Madrid, Spain. The man in the picture is Carlos Schliesser, a what we call 'information broker'. He buys and sells information to anybody who's willing to pay, and he is very indiscriminate about it. He sells information to any intelligence agency in the world, but also to various terrorist groups, including ETA in Spain, Scorpia and of course Al Qaeda. It took us a while to figure out who he talking with. Imagine our surprise when we found out Carlos was having a nice little get together with an information security officer we had been suspicious of before, but couldn't prove was anything wrong with."

Mrs Jones shifted in her chair. Alan Blunt leaned back and steepled his fingers.

"We, of course, contacted MI5 as soon as we identified him. They were... not very cooperative. We investigated Jason Carnegie before, because of the unexplained money, and he came out clean then. He is one of them. They don't like us touching what they see as one of their own. This, however," Blunt leaned forward again, "We cannot let slide. The man has access to very sensitive information."

"OK," Alex said, "I get why you want him under surveillance. You don't need me for that."

Blunt folded his hands and stared at Alex through his glasses. The trace of sunlight coming from the partially shaded windows reflected in them, and Alex had a hard time seeing his eyes. Not that they would have had any expression in them.

"We need somebody in his house to look for information he may have stolen. That is a job that takes some time, and we don't want him to get suspicious and alert his mates in MI5. You must understand, Alex, this man is very cautious. None of our operatives can approach him. He is ex-MI5, he knows how to keep us away. He is weary of every new person he meets."

"What makes you think I can approach him?" Alex asked, "Maybe he won't expect me to be a spy because I'm fifteen, but why would he want to even talk to me, let alone invite me into his house?"

"No. He won't. But she will."

Blunt placed a second photograph next to that of Jason Carnegie. A girl, about Alex's age, the same blond hair, cut short, the same blue eyes as the man next to her."

"Jennifer Carnegie," Blunt said, "His sixteen year old daughter. She will be with him in Spain. You approach her, get her to invite you over. Once in, you'll be able to discretely search the place."

Alex stared at the girl. She looked pretty, a little defiant.

"She's an adventurous type," Blunt continued, "A bit like yourself. You'll get along splendidly. Your best chance at meeting her will be one of the clubs or discotheques in the town they are currently staying."

Alex shifted in his chair, suddenly feeling uneasy.

"Am I supposed to..." he started hesitantly, not quite knowing how to put it into words.

"Approach her romantically. Certainly. You are her type. Other than that, she seems to just have broken up with her boyfriend. You can get her... how do they say it these days... you can get her in the rebound. Be nice to her, with your looks, she is almost guaranteed to fall for you."

Coming from Blunt's mouth, it sounded like he was discussing a wildlife documentary. Alex recoiled. This was nothing like his regular assignments lately, when he was just part of the scenery while agents did what they had to do, it being either surveillance or something more sinister. Only once, he had gotten himself involved in one of the more sinister missions, and he didn't want to think about that. Don't get involved, that was his motto. He'd kept himself aloof since that one time, hardly interacting with the agents at all. The worst he had done since the incident at Dunkirk had been carrying a gun through customs. This was something entirely different.

"No," he said, "I won't do it. I'm not going to... befriend her only to betray her. It's unfair."

He had long ago resigned himself that he would be used as a decoy by MI6 until he got too old and his usefulness was over. This was going too far. The faint rustle next to him told him that Mrs Jones, who had been oddly quiet the whole time, had just freed another peppermint from its wrapping. She spoke for the first time.

"Alex, there is no danger involved. We thought you might like this assignment. It's about meeting people your own age, you'll get to go to the clubs, the beach, and have a good time. Once you have searched the house and planted the microphones, you're free to enjoy ourself for the remainder of the time. See it as a free holiday."

"That's not what I was objecting to."

"Alex, we have to do this. And maybe the man is clean and there is no problem at all. You'll just have made a new friend."

"Friends don't spy on each other," Alex said stubbornly.

"And trusted government personnel shouldn't sell state secrets," Blunt said sharply, "That's what we're here for, Alex, to defend our country against these covert attacks. We work through ways the general public disapproves off, but are happily oblivious to."

"Like enlisting fifteen year old spies," Alex muttered.

Blunt's words had hit home, though, and unbidden his thoughts went back to Craig Harrison's little speech on the beach, with which he had convinced Alex to become an assassin. They did what they had to do, so that other people could live their lives in peace, oblivious of the means with which that peace was preserved. He felt himself go cold again, that detached feeling when he knew he was going to agree to something objectionable.

"When do I leave?" he asked.

There was no triumph in Blunt's face, nothing that indicated he had won again, no smugness about his total power over Alex. And that made sense too, the man had known Alex would agree, had expected nothing else. One day in the not so distant future, Alex thought, he'd say no, just for the heck of it. Whatever they would do to him then couldn't be much worse to what they were already doing now.

"Three days," Mrs Jones said, her voice all business, "And in the meantime you have some training to do with Smithers, he's waiting for you downstairs. Before you go, however, we want you to meet your 'father'."

She leaned forward and pressed a button on Blunt's desk. "Send him in," she said.

Alex sighed and turned in his chair to watch the door. He could hardly go on vacation on his own, although he knew of several sixteen year olds who did. But they usually travelled in groups. Being alone would make him stand out.

The door opened and Craig Harrison stepped in. "Hello, Alex," he said.

Alex jumped up. "No way," he said.

"Yes way. Don't worry, Alex, I'm only your backup. You know I'm good at that."

Alex stepped back until his chair was between him and the former assassin and looked at him, trying to control the churning in his stomach. The man looked good, healthy, tanned like before, if a bit tired, judging from the dark circles under his eyes. He had his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, and Alex knew that was to hide the tremor in them. Craig Harrison would never fire another sniper rifle again, and although Alex was sort of grateful for that at least, he didn't like the man's manipulative power. He couldn't aim. He persuaded others to aim for him. And if the only one available was a fifteen year old boy, so be it.

"I'm not going to kill anybody," Alex said.

"Nobody is asking you to, Alex," Blunt said reasonably, "In fact, nobody asked you in Dunkirk. You volunteered."

Alex opened his mouth in protest, but no sound came out. He remembered that moment on the beach, that cold feeling, the decision to go ahead and shoot somebody. Sure, Craig had pressured him, talked to him, reasoned with him. But the decision had been his. The story he had been telling himself for the past few months, that Craig had forced him to do it, was false. He had done it because he could. What did that make him?

"I'm not going to kill," he repeated stubbornly.

"You won' t need to," Craig said, "It's just in and out, find out what we need and then we'll let the big guys deal with it."

Alex turned to Blunt. "Don't you have somebody else," he asked plaintively. He didn't like the tone of his voice, he sounded like a child. Maybe, he thought spitefully, it was because he _was_ a child. "How about that guy from last week, what's his name, Mike something. Or Ben. Ben Daniels, we worked well together, why can't he come with me?"

Blunt shook his head. "Craig's available. Deal with it. Now go see Smithers, he has something interesting to show you. I need to speak with Craig."

Alex's face flushed red at the dismissal. He glared first at Blunt and Mrs Jones, then at Craig who was still standing at the door and then stalked out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

**Chapter 2**

* * *

_The black limo had appeared, the driver had gotten out and had checked his surroundings. He walked around the car, opened the back door and another man stepped out. Alex could see his face clearly through the sight as he too looked around. Then he stuck his head into the car, obviously telling the one remaining that it was safe to step out too. The other back door opened, and a third man stepped out and straightened. He was slightly balding, and the soft sea breeze was blowing the hair he still had - meticulously combed over the bald spot - away. It looked frighteningly ordinary. Alex could imagine him sitting in front of a TV, watching sports, or maybe on the beach, sitting in a deck chair, reading the news paper. _

_He could not imagine him selling guns to terrorists._

_The man was in plain view now. Alex could see him clearly in the cross of the sight. He blew out his breath and held still. His heart was beating slowly now, he could feel his pulse in his fingers. The slightest movement, and he would miss. He narrowed his eyes and counted the thumps from his heart, feeling the rhythm. Then, just in between beats, he pulled the trigger._

_He missed._

With a jolt, Alex sat upright. In stark contrast of his dream – not a nightmare, he refused to call it a nightmare – his heart was racing. He blinked in confusion, and it took him several moments to realize somebody was speaking to him. He turned his head sidewards and looked into the concerned face of Craig, who was sitting next to him in the plane that would bring them to Barcelona.

"Are you all right?"

Alex nodded. He looked away and stared out of the window. The only thing he could see were part of the wing of the airplane and clouds as far as the eye could see. Slowly, he tried to relax his clenched fists, bring his breathing under control. His mouth twitched.

He didn't know why this dream always freaked him out. He had had it several times right after the shooting, but he had been free of it for over a month now. He had thought he had been over it, had thought he had left it behind. He had done something terrible, but it was over and done with and he would never do it again. Would he?

"_You volunteered.._."

He swallowed. He had refused to admit it to himself before, but he had felt a strange and disturbing pride when he had hit the target right on the mark. Was this what it was like to be an assassin? To take pride in killing people? Would there be a next time, and if there was, would it be easier, like they always said it'd be?

"Hello, earth to Alex?"

The question was accompanied by a slight tug on his arm, and he looked at Craig, who studied his face. Alex looked into his dark, merciless eyes.

"Get over it, Alex," he said, "You did a job. You did it well. It's in the past, now look at the present."

They stared at each other for a while, each refusing to look away. Alex felt the resentment at the man rise again. He'd be damned if he would show weakness to him. His eyes hardened. Craig's eyes softened, and then he smiled.

"Good," he said, and looked away.

Uncertain of what had just happened, Alex looked away also. He leaned his head against the head rest of the chair and stared at the chair in front of him, silently glad that he wasn't fully grown yet. He could sit comfortably, and even had room to spare for his knees. Craig's legs were awkwardly bend sideways, and half the time, when the flight attendant was gone, had his legs stretched out in the aisle.

The past three days had been hectic. Alex had gone to see Smithers, who had handed him the usual gadgets, the Game Boy which could be used to find bugs, listen to conversations and contact MI6, this time in the person of Craig Harrison, now Craig Parker. The man had also handed him a new passport with the name of Alex Parker, to which Alex had muttered, "How original." Smithers had laughed.

"What would you have liked for a name then, my dear boy," he had said, "Bond?"

Alex couldn't help himself. He laughed. He laughed so hard he had to sit down. Smithers frowned at that, and Alex stopped, not wanting to give the man the impression that he was hysterical. He felt hysterical though. After giving Alex a stern look, Smithers pointed at the date on the passport.

"We aged you a year," he said, "You're now sixteen. Otherwise they won't let you into the discotheques. Since Miss Carnegie is also sixteen, you can always go where she goes."

That had quieted Alex down. Sombrely, he studied the passport, a piece of paper his friends would do anything for to get their hands on. Go into the clubs. Drink alcohol. Seduce girls. All government sanctioned. He had to admit, a year ago he too would have loved to get his hands on this.

"Glad to see our government isn't too concerned about ethics," he said sarcastically.

Smithers nodded vigorously. "I agree with you, my boy, absolutely. But we all know you're a sensible, responsible boy who wouldn't misuse this in any way."

Alex looked up. "Do you know what it is they want me to do?" he demanded.

Smithers looked away. "Just be careful," he said.

He fidgeted for a moment, and Alex started to wonder what had the man so flustered. Smithers was usually very straightforward, saying whatever was on his mind.

"Um," he said, "I don't know how to bring this up... after Ian died... and you're living with Miss Starbright, and she's a woman... has anyone ever, I mean, do you know about.... Blunt asked me to talk to you, you know, tell you..."

Alex stared at him, not knowing if he should be embarrassed or burst out laughing. _Blunt_ asked _Smithers_ to give him The Talk? On what planet did these people live? He settled for a surprised chuckle, and put his hand on Smithers's arm to stop him.

"Smithers," he said, trying to keep his tone light, "I talked to Ian ages ago. You don't have to tell me about the birds and the bees, all right? It's not like I'm going to be doing anything... like that."

"You never know," Smithers muttered.

He started to rummage through his things, pushing all sorts of seemingly ordinary stuff aside, a ballpoint, a toaster, a light bulb. He had his back to Alex, and they were both quiet for a while. Then he suddenly turned around and was his old, busybody self again.

"There's something else," he said, "Come along, I want to show you something."

Curious, Alex followed the overweight MI6 man to the connecting room. It was surprisingly clean and uncluttered. Several tables were standing against the wall at the other end, and on them were a variety of safes. Small ones with mechanical locks, larger ones that made the table they were standing on bend, and one which looked like it had been in a fire, with its door open. Smithers walked to a small safe standing on a table on the far right.

"We examined Carnegie's purchases over the last few years, as you know. Somehow, he has access to a large amount of money. He bought a house in Calella de Mar in Spain, which you'll be visiting, and a few months ago he ordered a safe and had it shipped to his house there." He pointed at the safe. "This one. We think that whatever it is he's hiding, he'll have put it in his safe. You're going to have to open it."

Alex stared at him in awe, and then started grinning. "You're going to teach me how to open a safe?"

Smithers frowned at him. "Only this type. And you can't use it for anything else."

Alex blinked at him, giving him his most innocent look while thinking about the safe at his school that held his favourite pocket knife. "Of course not," he said.

Smithers gave him a hard look and let it rest. He beckoned Alex to come closer and turned back to the safe.

"It's a simple model," he said, "A mechanical combination lock. Only good for withstanding casual intruders. Most burglars are in a hurry, they won't bother trying to open a safe when they can easily steal a laptop or the silverware. But for somebody who is interested in the contents of the safe, this is hardly a challenge. With some practice, I'm sure you'll be able to do it."

He started dialling the knob, using swift movements and hiding what he was doing from Alex by placing his big body in front of it. The safe opened, and Smithers stepped aside to let Alex see the small interior of the safe. Alex looked at it for a moment, and then back at Smithers.

"Right," the man said.

He grabbed Alex's arm and steered him to a table on the other side of the room. He picked something up and showed it to Alex.

"This is the interior of the lock. Look closely."

He started turning the knob, and Alex could see the notches turn, aligning them so that the gap they formed allowed the small metal bar to fall in. The lever attached to the metal bar was lifted and the lock opened.

"Looks simple," Alex said.

Smithers laughed. "This design has been in use for almost a hundred years," he said, "And it's still very potent because of its simplicity. Now. First of all, the easiest way to open the safe is by simply finding out the combination."

Alex rolled his eyes and was about to say something, but Smithers held up his finger.

"Every safe comes with a try out combination. Now I don't think it will be the case here, but many people never bother to change it. I'll give you a list of the most common try out combinations later, they are worth a try. You can always resort to more difficult tactics when they don't work. Just memorize them."

Alex nodded. He was pretty sure Carnegie would have changed the combination. The safe at his school however...

"Another possibility, and you'll be surprised how many times that happens, but again I don't think it'll be the case here, is look for the combination somewhere in the vicinity of the safe. Many people write it down. Once, I saw a safe that had a note stuck on it with the combination."

"This guy is head of security," Alex interrupted him, "I don't think he'll be that stupid."

Smithers shrugged. "Just telling you the possibilities, my boy," he said, "As I was saying. If you're lucky, again, he'll have put the safe on day lock. This means that he has closed the safe, but not cancelled out the combination. You can either just open it, or only dial the last number of it. This too is worth a try."

Alex was starting to get impatient. He was sure Carnegie would be very careful with his safe. He wanted to know how to open the safe when it was completely locked, and without knowing the combination. Despite himself, he was starting to get very interested.

"If everything else fails," Smithers continued, "You have to try lock manipulation. This is very hard, requires a lot of practice and a good ear. But here's where we come in to make it a little easier for you. Also, we already know how many wheels the lock has because we know what safe Carnegie has. Your new Game Boy has an extra function to it. You attach this..." He showed Alex a small device with a thin wire and a small sucker attached to it, "... to the safe just above the dial, and plug the wire into the Game Boy. The Game Boy will detect the contact points in the lock for you, hopefully. When you have the numbers of the combination, the only thing left to do is try them all out. That way, you'll be able to open the lock."

He held up his hand when Alex tried to say something. "This is not as easy as it sounds. You'll need to practice."

So that was what Alex had been doing in the past three days. Opening a safe with the aid of his Game Boy. Frustration had run high when it turned out next to impossible in the beginning. On the last day, he finally got the hang of it, succeeding in opening the safe four out of five times. He hadn't been satisfied, but it'd have to do. He could imagine it would be a lot harder when he had to do it on the actual safe, in a strange house, under pressure of discovery.

The high whine of the engines changed, and Alex shook himself out of his musings about opening safes. A soft ping made him look up at the signal for putting the safety belt on, and he pushed his tray back in its place. Next to him, Craig was doing the same.

"Well," he said, turning to Alex, "Here we go. Let's have some fun."

Alex frowned at him, but didn't say anything for fear of being overheard. Craig laughed at his expression. His laugh sounded fake though. Alex took a good look at him, and noticed for the first time the man looked strained.

"Come on, Alex, aren't you excited to get into the discotheques and all? You know that if you're a year younger, you're not allowed in, right? We're on holiday, son. Have some fun. Meet girls."

Alex didn't see anything remotely funny about being coerced into going on a so called 'holiday'. And he wasn't there to 'meet girls', he was there to meet a specific girl, try and befriend her and then betray her. He sunk deeper into his chair.

"Come on, look at it from the bright side, Alex," Craig said, and then, bending over and whispering in Alex's ear, "At least you won't have to kill anybody this time."

Alex glared at him. Craig smiled wickedly.

"Who knows," he grinned, "You might even get lucky."

After that, the conversation became very one-sided.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

**Chapter 3**

* * *

With a start, Alex sat up in his bed. Convinced he was late for something, he started looking around frantically, until his eyes rested on the red digits of the alarm clock next to his bed. Six-fifteen. He blinked in confusion. Slowly, he swung his legs out of the bed and sat still for a while, considering his room. He had awoken from some dream, but for the life of him couldn't say what it had been about, other than the vague remnants of the feeling of being late. Maybe, he thought, it was just some delayed after-effect from having to get up to go to school. The holidays had started over a week ago, and he had slept late almost every day – except for the past three days where he had had to go see Smithers and the safe.

The safe.

He got up, sauntered to the heavy drapes and opened them, allowing the bright sunlight into his room. He squinted, then looked outside into the courtyard of the hotel. It was empty. The surface of the small pool was undisturbed. He looked longingly at it for a moment, but he knew he had to do something else. Reconnaissance.

Yawning and stretching, he started dressing, shorts and a singlet, trainers at his feet. Then he got out of his room, crossed the hallway to the other side and knocked on Craig's door. Silence greeted him. He hesitated for a moment, then knocked again, a little louder this time. Then he wondered if Craig was already downstairs, waiting for him. On their previous assignment together, Craig had come to wake him up, had dragged him along for a morning run. He hadn't today.

Not knowing what to do, Alex raised his fist to knock even louder, when he remembered the tired look on Craig's face the night before, when they had arrived, the irritable way in which he had dismissed Alex after dinner. Something was up. He'd better leave him alone.

"See you later then," he muttered to the closed door.

He left the hotel through the lobby, waving at the man behind the counter who looked at him curiously. Probably not many teenagers went out running at six-thirty in the morning. Once outside, Alex fell into a slow jog, moving down the street into the direction of the beach. At this time of day the air was still cool, and in fact it was the only time in which he could go running without getting seriously dehydrated.

When he reached the road that ran next to the beach, he turned right. He followed it for a while, admiring the beach, the palm trees and the hills in the distance. To his right, more hotels, bars, clubs, discotheques, all quiet now. The huge neon signs looked out of place in the sunlight. He imagined the place at night, brightly lit, filled with people out to party. They would all be sleeping now.

He ran south, following the road and the rail road track that separated the beach from the road next to it, until the road turned right, away from the beach. The rail road continued on, disappearing into a tunnel. He followed the road, turned left at a roundabout and started to ascend to get above the entrance to the tunnel. The road then continued on along the coast, angling up with the cliffs, leading away from Calella and its hotels, rising high above the narrow stretch of sand below. Only five hundred meters later, past the lighthouse, a smaller road led to the right, away from the coast. He turned into it and slowed down to a walk, wiping the sweat off his brow.

This was it. The house in the distance, up the hill, was Carnegie's house. The road rose steeply, and he continued walking, every now and then looking back at the sea and the rather spectacular view he now had on the little town. To have a house at a place like this...

Alex did begin to wonder how Carnegie was able to afford all this. Maybe there was something in Blunt's suspicions after all. Buying a house with a view like this, in one of the most popular holiday areas in Spain must be expensive.

"We don't have a floor plan of the place, unfortunately," Smithers had said on the last day, "But the place isn't very big. I suspect you won't have many problems finding your way around in it. The safe will probably be placed inside a wall, so you can only reach the front. But that's all you need, Alex, don't worry, you're getting quite good at this."

Alex had looked at the pictures of the white house, red tiled roof, garden. A wall surrounded it, topped with what seemed like glass shards. A typed report described the alarm system in great detail. The most important part seemed to be the perimeter alarm. Basically, when it was on, anything larger than a small cat approaching the house would set off the alarm. Alex had shrugged and had put it aside. He wouldn't have to worry about it.

He came to a full stop when he reached the white wall that surrounded the house and leaned against it, as if stretching his legs. The road was dusty here, the vegetation dry. Already, the sun was burning down mercilessly, and Alex reminded himself that he shouldn't go out running too far, even this early in the morning. He looked down at his trainers, most specifically his shoelaces. He had asked Smithers about the tungsten shoelaces Tamara Knight had used before, and the man had smiled in triumph when he had handed two pairs to Alex.

"Don't tell any of the other agents I gave you these," he had whispered, "They all want it, but the Americans are very unwilling to part with it for some reason. We'll have to develop our own, but that takes time and budget. You know how it is."

"That's great, Smithers," Alex had said, genuinely pleased, "Anything else?"

Smithers had laughed. "You want more? You already have our most advanced electronic gadget, boy, with that Game Boy safe cracker. But fine, you're right, there's more."

He had felt around in the pockets of his grey coat, and then had placed some candy – gumballs - and a small plastic card on the table. Alex had immediately recognized the logo on the card. He picked it up.

"Cool," he had said, looking at the name on the card. "A Chelsea fanclub membership card in my false name. What is it for?"

"And a real membership it is too. If anybody cares to look you up in their administration, Alex Parker will have been a member for two years now. But look at this." He took a piece of rope out one of his many pockets and held it in front of Alex, who took it. Smithers gestured at Alex to hold it tightly between his hands and then started cutting the rope with the card. Only a few cuts were needed.

"It's a knife," Smithers said, "Simple, but effective. Put it in your wallet."

Alex had done so, and then Smithers had proceeded to explain about the gum.

"The red ones," he said, picking one up carefully, "Are explosive. Not very powerful, it's only a small blast, but enough to, for instance, destroy a lock. Easier than picking it. Can't teach you that in three days."

Alex's face had lit up. "How long to teach me?" he had asked.

Smithers had just laughed had shaken his head. "The blue ones are the most interesting ones," he proceeded, "Don't bite them too hard. Just hard enough to crack them. Inside, there's a small bug, a microphone I mean, not a real one, obviously. That would be..."

"Disgusting," Alex said.

Smithers raised his eyebrows. "Indeed. Just take the microphone out, place it somewhere unobtrusive, the inside of a lamp, for instance. In fact, the gum they're in is real, and you can use it to stick it to some surface. And for God's sake, don't put it in a plant. It's not water resistant."

He had handed him the candy in a small plastic bag, and Alex had pocketed it. That had been only yesterday morning. It seemed ages ago now. Craig had come in and had spent some time with Smithers. Alex had watched from a distance as the ever friendly MI6 tech man had handed him a pair of infra-red binoculars and an iPod, had studied Crag's inpatient face as Smithers had explained the workings, waving his hands and gesturing enthusiastically. The binoculars could be used for observation, you could literally see through walls with it, identifying heat sources in a building. People, for instance. The iPod was also a receiver for the bugs Alex was going to place inside the Carnegie home.

Craig's eyes had wandered restlessly through the room during the explanation. He had briefly caught Alex's eyes, and for a short moment Alex had thought he had seen despair in the man's eyes. It was gone so quickly that he thought he had imagined it. And after Smithers had finished, Craig had unceremoniously grabbed his things and had dragged Alex away, rushing him to the taxi that would bring them to the airport. After that, Alex knew, everything would just continue to go down hill.

And now he was out here, close to the house he was supposed to gain entrance to. Straightening, he looked along the wall. The gate was about twenty meters to his left, and he sauntered towards it to look through the heavy iron bars. The white house with the red tiled roof stood some ten meters away. All was quiet. Shutters were closed, no sound came out. Alex looked at his watch. Five past seven. Time to head back.

He turned back and bumped straight into the girl that had sneaked up to him.

"Whoa!"

He jumped back in surprise, instinctively poising himself to fend of an attack. She stared at him, a little taken aback. He stared back, blinked a few times and lowered his fists.

"Um," he said, "Sorry."

Relief spread out on her face. "Oh, thank goodness, you speak English," she said, "I was wondering how to ask you what the hell you were doing here in Spanish." Her expression changed into one of mistrust. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

Alex tried to calm down his racing heart and straightened. He had recognized her in an instant, the short blond hair, the freckles, the blue eyes. This was Jennifer Carnegie. His target. Then he berated himself. She wasn't a target. She was a person.

"I, um," he said, "I was just out for a run."

"At seven in the morning?"

"Only time to do it. It gets too hot later." He wiped more sweat off his brow. "Actually, I should go even earlier. It's already too hot."

She relaxed somewhat and studied him. "I haven't seen you before."

"I haven't seen you before either," Alex retorted, "What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

"I live here."

"Oh."

He glanced at the house. "Nice place."

Jennifer crossed her arms and started tapping her foot. "You still haven't explained what you are doing here looking at my house. Or why I haven't seen you before."

Alex shrugged. "Just admiring the view. And as for your second question, we only arrived yesterday."

That seemed to take all the belligerence out of her. She let her arms drop down and her shoulders shagged. She looked behind her at the sea and the road for a moment, plucking aimlessly at her shorts. She wore slippers, Alex noticed. She couldn't have been out for a walk, not on those.

"You haven't answered my question either," he tried, "What are you doing out here so early?"

She looked at him again. "I always wake up early. Saw you sneaking around our house," she said simply, "So I decided to go out and see what you were doing." She noticed Alex look at the closed gate. "There's a side entrance."

They stared at each other. Alex shifted his feet, looked at the ground, then up at Jennifer again, in what he hoped would be interpreted as shyness. He was supposed to befriend her – he refused to think of it any other way – but they seemed to get off on the wrong foot. Jennifer, however, seemed equally embarrassed. He decided to be bold.

"My name is Alex," he said, extending his hand, "Alex Parker."

She hesitated for a moment and then took his hand. "Jennifer Carnegie. Not Jenny. Not Jen. Jennifer."

"All right. Jennifer."

He purposefully held her hand a little longer, and then let go. He shouldn't lay it on too thick. Suddenly disgusted with himself, he stepped away from her, intending to run back to town. She stepped in his way.

"Um," she said, "I was thinking... I'm sorry I jumped you like that. You look hot. Would you like some water before you go running back?"

He hesitated. A golden opportunity. And all her idea. "Yes please," he said.

He followed her around the corner, through the small gate and into the garden. The freshness of the garden surprised him. The grass was impossibly green, flowers were everywhere, bright colours, purple, yellow, pink. Jack would have loved this, he thought. He felt a pang of regret. Jack should be with him, he should only be on holiday here, have a good time and talk to a nice girl just because he liked her, instead of trying to manipulate his way into her house.

"Coming?"

He started out of his musings and realized he had stopped following her, instead staring at the flowerbed next to the door to what seemed to be the kitchen. Quickly, he followed her inside.

"Isn't... aren't your parents going to be angry for inviting a stranger into your house?" he asked, gratefully accepting the glass of cool water she handed him.

She shrugged and lifted her chin, looking defiant. "It's just me and my father. My mother is dead. He's busy all the time, I don't think he'll notice. Besides, it's my house too, I can invite in anybody I like."

Alex looked outside through the windows. The bright sunlight made the kitchen almost seem dark. He cleared his throat.

"My mother is dead too," he said.

He hadn't thought it'd affect him. He had never known his mother, she had died when he was only three months old. The raw emotion was there, though, maybe because of the shared experience with Jennifer. He knew she had heard it in his voice when she placed her hand on his arm. He hated himself.

"I'm sorry," she said. She sounded sincere.

"Me too." He shook her hand off his arm and, just to give himself something to do, went over to the tap and refilled his glass.

An awkward silence filled the kitchen as he drank the water, staring at the tiles on the wall above the counter. He wondered if this was what it was like, to be a real spy, manipulating people, getting close to them only to betray them later. He wondered if his father had ever done something like this, and what his mother would have thought of it. He thought about Ian.... Yes, he could picture Ian doing this. He had heard him smooth talking waiters in restaurants and receptionists at hotels. People liked Ian. He had a way to make people feel good about themselves, always acting – acting? - as if they interested him, as if at that moment they were the most important person on earth to him.

Then he thought about Sabina.

"Hey."

He looked up.

"Didn't mean to upset you."

He realized he was still staring, grim faced, eyes hard. He forced a smile. "You're not. I'm sorry. Just thinking about things." He looked at his watch. Seven twenty. "Look, I have to go. My dad will wonder where I am."

He put the glass down on the counter and walked to the door.

"Thanks for the water," he said.

Jennifer grinned. "Don't mention it. Hey, I'm meeting some friends on the beach later on, you can come by if you like? Or do you have other plans?"

"Sure, that'd be great. Where?"

"South end. Near where the rocks begin. It's a really nice place, we hang out there all the time. Sometimes we take my father's boat, it's moored there too, about thirty meters from the coast, so we'll have to swim to get to it. But usually we just sort of... sit there." She giggled. "Usually, somebody brings a bottle of sangria."

Alex smiled. "OK, see you then."

He closed the door behind him and quickly left the garden, suddenly afraid her father would show up and ask what he was doing here. He couldn't help feeling smug about how things were going though. Make contact on the first day, get himself invited into the house already... now he only had to get her to let him spend the night.

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_Thank you Jusmine, Emmy-loo and Secret Spy Guy for reviewing so far!_


	4. Chapter 4

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**Chapter 4**

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He arrived back at the hotel at seven forty, sweat running down his face, his arms and his back. He stopped at the entrance to the hotel and leaned against the wall for a moment, before slowly walking inside to the receptionist sitting behind the counter, looking bored. In the corner, a whole pile of suitcases was stacked that hadn't been there before, and Alex looked at it in surprise.

"New arrivals," the receptionist said. Alex turned and raised his eyebrows. "Came by bus. Bus drives whole night. From Germany."

"Oh," Alex said.

He walked past the reception area and was about to place his foot on the first step of the stairs, when suddenly somebody grabbed his arm and spun him around. Again, Alex reacted as if stung by a bee. He twisted his arm in a movement that would make it impossible for his attacker to hold on to him and then jumped back, balancing on the steps, ready to punch... Craig.

His breath came in short gasps, his heart was racing. Twice in one morning. That really was too much. He wasn't cut out to do these things any more. Slowly, he lowered his fists and worked up a glare, knowing it was pointless. Craig glared back at him.

"Where have you been," he said, his voice a loud whisper.

The man at the reception looked at them curiously, stretching his neck a little to catch what was going on. Alex straightened and tried to smile, to show him nothing was wrong. It felt strained, he was sure the receptionist didn't buy it, but the man smiled back and looked back down, probably at some magazine he was reading. He looked back at Craig, taking in the man's blood shot eyes and unshaven chin. He leaned forward.

"Reconnaissance," he said slowly.

He had more to say, he felt like screaming at the man posing as his father, telling him to mind his own business and leave him alone to do his job, but he realized that would attract too much attention. Besides, the man was doing his job too. Look after Alex. Suddenly, he didn't feel as safe as he had before. There was obviously something wrong with Craig. Settling for an angry look in the direction of his fake father, he turned around and raced up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Craig, although looking like the living dead, still managed to keep up with him easily. Alex walked to his room on the first floor, fished his key card out of the small pocket in his shorts and opened the door. Craig followed him in.

"What do you want," Alex said angrily when they both entered the room. He pulled the singlet over his head and threw it in the corner. "Where were you this morning?"

Craig was silent. He stared at him, and it took Alex a moment to realize what he was looking at. The scar on his chest. He straightened and crossed his arms in front of it.

"Are you done looking yet," he demanded, "Because I'd like to take a shower now if you don't mind."

"You really were shot, weren't you," Craig said.

"Yes," Alex said curtly.

"I thought they exaggerated that part," Craig mumbled. He walked past Alex and sat down in the chair near the window. "So what's it like?"

Alex, who had been about to enter the bathroom, stopped. "Is what like?" he asked.

"Scorpia. What's it like?"

Alex looked at him. Craig's face was unreadable. He wondered how much his own face gave away.

"It's...," he said. He hesitated. "It was... interesting. Fun, actually, if you ignore the purpose of the training. I liked it."

"Are you sorry you're not with them any more?"

No. Yes. He'd been in control then, sort of. True, the control had been an illusion, but he had liked the feeling. Besides, he was good at it. Very good. Too good.

"No," he said, "They were a bunch of murderous bastards. I'm not a murderer."

He looked at Craig defiantly, challenging him to disagree. Craig remained quiet though. He didn't need to say anything. Alex knew the – lack of – truth of that last statement.

"Reconnaissance," Craig said instead.

"Can't this wait until after I've showered?" Alex asked plaintively.

Craig got up. "Where were you?" he asked. Alex recoiled at the sudden menace in his voice.

"I ran down the beach and then up to the house, to have a look at it," he said defensively, "I wanted to see what I was up against. Blunt was right. The house is too nice, too expensive for a mere civil servant."

"You went up there!" Craig looked both incredulous and angry, "What if they saw you! Are you out of your mind! I thought you knew better than that, Blunt's forever on my case about you, to let you handle things, but clearly you can't..."

"What," Alex demanded, "What, Craig. _Dad_. I didn't ask for this. Or did Blunt leave that part out?"

"Alex..."

"No. Don't Alex me. I went up there. Had a look at the house. Met Jennifer, she invited me in. In a perfectly natural, innocent way. I didn't jeopardise anything by it. If anything, I made progress. And all the while you were sleeping, nursing your hangover."

Craig stared at him. Then he stepped back and laughed. "I don't believe it," he said after a while, "I don't believe it. You go up there, all sweaty, wearing nothing but a singlet and shorts, and she invites you in?"

"Gave me a glass of water," Alex said, calming down a little.

Craig shook his head, still chuckling. "Only you, Alex," he said, "Only you."

He turned around, took two steps and looked out of the window. Then he turned again and looked at Alex appraisingly. Alex felt uncomfortable by his scrutiny.

"So she saw you like this," Craig mused, "Already half undressed. Hmm."

He stepped closer. Alex didn't like the look in his eyes. He felt like squirming. There was something about the man that made his skin crawl. One moment, he was all friendly, making jokes, placing insinuations that made Alex blush, the next moment he was trying to convince Alex he was like him, an assassin. No. Having Alex convince himself that he could be an assassin. And now... now he looked at Alex as if he were some specimen, a lab rat, a frog in biology class.

Craig moved. Pain shot through Alex's left arm. He stumbled backwards in shock and hit his head against the wall. His right hand shot up and he clasped his upper arm. Then he realized just what had happened. Craig had hit him. A malicious, purposeful blow on his upper arm, paralysing it. Pushing himself off the wall, he dove at Craig, intending to return the favour. Craig, however, seemed to have expected that, because he sidestepped him, grabbed his left shoulder with one hand and with the other grabbed his right arm and twisted it behind his back. Together, they crashed onto the ground. Alex grunted in pain and started struggling, but quickly stopped when Craig twisted his arm up further.

"Why?" he ground out, gasping

Craig pushed him down harder. "To speed things up," he said, and his voice betrayed that he actually had trouble keeping Alex under control, despite Alex's useless left arm. "She'll see the bruise. You tell her you bumped into a door. She won't believe you. Quickest way to get her to invite you is if she thinks I'm abusing you."

"You _are_ abusing me."

"Good." Craig let go of Alex and quickly stepped back to deny Alex the opportunity to kick him. "Then you won't have any trouble with that story at all." He turned to the door, opened it, and then paused. "Breakfast in ten. See you there."

The door closed. Alex, who by then had rolled over and was laying on his back, stared at the ceiling. Something was burning inside of him, and it took him a moment to recognize the feeling. A feeling he felt before. The same feeling he had just before trying to shoot Mrs Jones.

Hatred.

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_OK, this was really short, I know. Many thanks to the people who reviewed the last chapter: darkmoon999, KlutzyQT, Emmy-loo, Anne and hiya63_.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Since I can see where most of my readers come from (neat feature :), I should probably include an extra story warning: involves alcohol (not in this chapter, but the next one). I think I handle it well though, and imho it all remains within the T rating.

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**Chapter 5**

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The town was slowly waking up, and the streets were full of people carrying towels and bags and smelling like sun lotion, all moving in the general direction of the beach. Alex and Craig joined the crowd, carrying their own towels and bags and sun lotion. Alex walked in silence, still brooding over Craig's sudden violence and the pain in his upper arm. A bruise was forming, and he knew the slight discolouring would be a full blown blue spot by that evening. It was covered by the short sleeves of his t-shirt now, so nobody would see it.

"I'm a classic case," Craig chatted easily, walking beside him, "I'm your classic abuser. I know where to hit where it hurts, but I make sure the injuries stay hidden. Keep your t-shirt on until she makes you take it off. Deny something happened. She'll see straight through your lie if you play it well."

Alex didn't answer.

"Alex."

He kept staring straight ahead. Assignment or no, he wasn't some guinea pig to be bumped around any time the other agent felt like it.

Craig bent his head down, bringing it close to Alex's. "Drop the act, right now," he hissed, "And pay attention to what I'm telling you. We're going to do this, and we're going to do this right. If it makes you feel any better, then I'm sorry I hit you, but it was necessary. We weren't sure she'd be able to convince her father to let you into the house, so we need a strong motivation for her to convince him."

Alex's head shot up. "We?" he asked, "Who's we... Blunt, isn't it. You and he cooked this up, without telling me."

Crag's expression didn't change. "It was my idea," he said curtly, "And he agreed. We need to get in quickly, or this whole operation will be pointless. Carnegie knows or suspects we're keeping an eye on him, his friends in MI5 no doubt warned him. Speed is of the essence."

Alex's shoulders slumped. "OK," he mumbled, "Whatever."

They reached the beach and Craig turned south, weaving his way through towels and chairs and tables. Whole families were already there, small children running around, bigger children off on their own, running in and out of the water. A lot of multi-coloured plastic beach play sets, buckets, shovels. Very few teenagers though. Most of them wouldn't show up until later.

When they were about a hundred meters away from the south end of the beach, Craig stopped. He looked around, spotted a large parasol that was unoccupied and headed towards it. Alex followed, and dropped his things in the shade. Craig made a show of aligning his towel on the beach just right and, after paying the caretaker of the parasol the required amount, sat down on it.

"Is your girlfriend here already?" he asked, as he fished a book out of his bag. He opened it, seemingly on a random page, and looked down in it. "Seems there are several kids down there by the rocks. Go and have a look."

Alex looked and saw he was right. He glanced angrily at Craig, and then sauntered off without saying anything. There were indeed several youths sitting on the rocks, their feet dangling, just hanging out. Two tanned boys in swimming trunks and t-shirt. Three girls, fully clothed in shorts and tops, lounging on the sand below. None of which was Jennifer. Alex stopped a few meters away and hesitated. One of the girls looked up.

"Hello," she said.

"Hey," he answered, "I was looking for Jennifer."

The girl sat up. "Jennifer? You know her?"

Alex nodded. "Yes. Met her this morning. She invited me to... hang out."

The girl got up and pushed her long blond hair behind her ears. Then she stepped closer, smiling, and extended her hand.

"I'm Sally," she said.

He shook it. "Alex," he said.

She looked at him appraisingly, and he felt uncomfortable again. Suddenly, he felt like he was on display somehow, and everybody was judging him by his looks. He didn't like it. Then he realized he was doing the same to her.

She was by far the most attractive of the girls present. The two others looked ordinary, a little chubby, with nice faces. There was another blond girl by the name of Tory - "don't call me Victoria. I'll kill you" -, who suffered from acne, and the last girl – brown hair, nice green eyes – was named Julia. The two boys eyed him suspiciously, as if he was somehow fishing in their pond, and he realized it was true.

Brian, the tallest of the two, jumped down from his rock and looked down on Alex. He was at east four inches taller than he was, with an intimidating physique. Broad shoulders, muscular arms. Alex involuntarily placed his feet more firmly into the sand. Then Brian laughed and punched him lightly on his left arm, which made Alex wince. What was it with people that they wanted to punch him, he wondered. And why there?

"Hi Alex," Brian said. He turned around and gestured at his friend, a dark haired boy who was still sitting on the rock. "The quiet one over there is Derek. Don't pay any attention to him. He thinks posing as the silent brooding type will get him laid."

"Does it work?" Alex asked dryly.

Derek suddenly grinned, but kept quiet. Alex looked at the girls again to see if they had any reaction to his remark, but they all looked at him innocently. Sally tilted her head.

"So," she said, "You met Jennifer... this morning?" She looked at her watch. "It's morning now. Eleven o'clock. I suppose you mean last night?"

Alex shook his head and let himself drop in the sand, next to Tory and Julia. Sally gracefully sank to the ground as well and crossed her legs. Brian leaned against a rock. They all looked at him with interest, and he realized that their vacation up until now had consisted mostly of partying and laying on the beach. He also realized that this was early for them.

"No, I mean this morning. I was out running and I bumped into her at her house."

"Ew," Tory said, "You run? Early in the morning? Voluntarily? Are you insane? How old are you?"

Alex shook his head and suppressed a grin. "Yes, voluntarily. I... sometimes need to clear my head. And I'm sixteen."

Sally grinned at him. "Great," she said, "You can come to the Flamingo Bar with us tonight then. It's really the only club that allows sixteen year olds in, all the others require you to be eighteen."

Alex nodded and was about to ask her how old she was, when quick footsteps in the sand alerted him to another arrival. He turned around. Jennifer dropped down in the sand next to him, letting her bag roll in the sand. Several items fell out, sunglasses, a book, some candy bars.

"Crap," she said. Quickly, she put everything back in her bag. Only then she looked up. "Hi guys," she said, "I see you've met Alex." She turned to Alex. "So, this is us. We sort of hang out together here. I know Tory and Brian from last year. Derek and Julia sort of joined us last week. Sally is Tory's cousin, staying with her family."

Tory giggled and shot Brian a look. Brian ignored her. "Brian got us into the Flamingo bar last year, when we were still under age," she said, "This year, we won't have to worry about getting kicked out. Awesome, huh."

Yes, Alex thought, awesome. But you're never going to beat my fake passport which ages me a year. MI6 issue and all. They chatted for a while, and Alex found he could fit in quite easily. Conversation was shallow, drifting in no particular direction, the girls commenting on boys and the boys laughing and teasing, and then the girls teasing and flirting right back. Alex found himself keeping an eye on Jennifer, and he realized that pretending to like her wasn't that hard.

She seemed to be an ordinary girl, babbling about shopping and a trip to Barcelona with her father, sightseeing, and partying. She leaned against a rock, and every now and then shot furtive glances in Alex's direction, which he pretended not to notice. Or at least, he played that he pretended not to notice. He knew she noticed him noticing but pretending not to. He dug his hands in the sand and played with a shell.

"Let's go swimming," Tory suddenly exclaimed.

She jumped up, tore the top from her body – revealing a blue bathing suit – and started running toward the calm water of the Mediterranean. Halfway there, she turned her head and shouted, "Come on, you wimps. Swim time!"

Brian and Derek jumped up, obviously jarred at her choice of words, and raced after her, pulling their t-shirts over their heads as they were running. Julia giggled and started undressing slowly. Sally looked at Alex, then at Jennifer.

"Aren't you going?" she asked him.

"Sure," he said. Then he waited.

Sally put her hands on her hips. "Well," she said, "Then take of your shirt, pretty boy. Let's see those abs."

Alex felt his face heat up. He was so not used to this. He wondered if Tom ever had girls come on to him like that, and then thought about the plethora of rude remarks he would no doubt make if he knew. He looked at Jennifer, who for some reason was looking at Sally with an angry expression on her face. Then he sighed. He was going to have to play his role now. Slowly, he pulled the t-shirt over his head and dropped it in the sand. Both girls stopped glaring at each other and looked at him.

"Oh my God," Jennifer said. She stepped forward and placed her hand on his elbow, beating Sally to it. "What happened to your arm? That wasn't there this morning?"

Alex looked down. The dark bruise was spreading, he saw. It looked nasty. He tore his arm loose and looked away. "Bumped into a door," he mumbled.

Sally all but pushed Jennifer away and inspected the bruise too. Then her eyes drifted to his chest, where she could hardly miss the scar right above his heart. She raised her eyebrows and placed her hand on his chest.

"Heart surgery," Alex said, hoping they wouldn't know a bullet wound when they saw one, "When I was little."

He looked over Sally's shoulder at Jennifer, who looked both stricken at Sally's sudden interest in Alex and dismayed about the way she had been shoved aside.

"How do you bump into a door?" she asked.

Alex shrugged and looked away. Deciding that taking off would give the impression he was fleeing, he turned around and ran all the way to the water. Three splashing steps in he dove forward and disappeared under the surface. A few powerful strokes took him deeper and he opened his eyes. Everything was hazy. He'd have to buy a snorkeling set to see properly. He surfaced and turned around, spitting out some sea water. He grimaced. He had forgotten how foul the Mediterranean see tasted, with the extra salt. Then he looked at the beach. Sally and Jennifer were walking together, talking.

Good. Let them.

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_Thank you hello93bye_, _me, darkmoon999, Emmy-loo, Anne, chacotan, Jusmine, Chaos Dragon for reviewing!_


	6. Chapter 6

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**Chapter 6**

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The music was loud. Really loud. Alex had a hard time making himself heard over the heavy beat that reverberated through his whole body and made the empty glasses on the bar and the high tables rattle. He leaned over the bar and tried to get the bartender's attention again. Somebody was tugging his arm and he looked around.

"One more beer!" Tory shouted, "Julia's here!"

He turned around again and leaned further over the bar to grab the bartender's arm in passing.

"Seven beer!" he yelled.

The man looked annoyed, but turned around to the tap and started tapping the requested beers. Alex couldn't see what brand it was, but he suspected it'd be something Spanish. And cold. Like a lager. The man started handing him the beer and he started handing it behind him. Only when he had paid the bartender did he look around, to see that indeed Julia had joined their group. She was the last to arrive.

Alex surveyed their little group, slowly sipping his cold drink. It was his third beer already, and although he had managed to partially empty the previous two into one of the plants, he was starting to feel light headed. He should take it slow. No spy should ever get drunk. Or even mildly intoxicated. He needed his wits.

Derek was standing to his right, acting out his quiet, brooding persona. He was scowling at his beer. Next to him, Brian had already downed half of his, looking around the room, seemingly checking out the action. He was moving with the music. The flashing lights lit up his bright eyes, and he was grinning.

Tory was dancing close by, with Julia and another girl he didn't know. She was holding her beer, occasionally sipping it and laughing. Then she suddenly swirled and disappeared into the crowd.

Next to him, Jennifer. She hadn't touched her beer yet, but he knew she had downed the previous two rather quickly, so he didn't think it strange for her to take it slow with this one. She smiled at him. Sally was standing next to her. Her glass was gone and Alex frowned. Had she finished hers already? She was smiling at him, and before he knew it, she had grabbed his arm and started pulling him to the dance floor.

"Hey!" he yelled, trying to resist, "I still have my beer!"

She stopped and turned around. "So drink it!" she ordered, laughing.

"But..."

She stepped closer, grabbed the glass in his hand and forced it to his mouth. "Drink it. Then let's dance."

Bystanders were looking at them. Some started to laugh. Others started to chant, "Drink, drink, drink!"

Alex grimaced. Then he quickly heaved up the glass, put it to his mouth and gulped it down. When he was done, people started clapping. A laughing girl took the glass from his hand and he allowed Sally to pull him further into the crowd. Once, he looked back at Jennifer. She looked lost. Then he lost sight of her and he plunged right into the mass of moving, dancing bodies.

For a while, he lost himself to the music, dancing with the pretty girl who was smiling at him. He grabbed her hand and she twirled and laughed, then pushed him away. The coloured lights danced around him, the heavy beat making him move in sync with everybody around him. The crowd thickened, as more and more people found their way into the club and onto the dance floor. Sally moved closer to him and he didn't mind.

Then suddenly, she was gone, swept away by the crowd. He looked around in confusion. Slowly, he started moving away from the centre of the room, to the edge of the dance floor, where the crowd wasn't as heavy. He never really liked crowds anyway.

Slightly dizzy, he moved to stand with his back against the bar. Jennifer was gone. Of course. She wouldn't wait around for him. He cursed softly. Now he'd have to go looking for her. He peered into the crowd. The flashing lights made it hard to see. He could hardly recognize faces. At one point, he thought he saw Brian, dancing with some brunette, but he wasn't sure. Then he spotted Sally, the same time she saw him. She smiled and waved and started to come over.

"Here. Drink."

Startled, he looked aside as the cold beer was shoved into his hand. Automatically, his hand closed around the glass. Jennifer smiled hazily at him. She pushed him, looked over her shoulder at the approaching Sally, who now had a furious look on her face and moved to stand in front of him.

"Come on. You did it for her. Now you do it for me."

He didn't want to do it, but he had no choice, really. He quickly brought the glass to his mouth and gulped down the beer in a way he knew he was going to regret later. When he looked down, he was just in time to see Jennifer gulp down the last of her own beer. Sally had stopped about two meters away, staring at them.

He had to act, now, or risk losing Jennifer and be stuck with Sally. Pushing the weird feeling away he was actually being fought over by two girls, something Tom, no doubt, would love, he grabbed Jennifer's arm and pulled her to the dance floor forcefully. Sally stared after him. He didn't like the look on her face, but he quickly lost sight of her in the dense mass of people.

There really was no other option but to dance close. He kept his arms on her shoulders and she placed her hands on his hips, smiling. The beer began to take its effect and he felt himself slipping. He didn't care any more. He felt one with the music, the lights and the girl in front of him. Other people were around him, but they were faceless, just blurs in the flickering light. He moved even closer to Jennifer until their bodies almost touched, and she looked up at him, eyes shining. Time passed, but he had no real sense of time. The music changed, but the beat didn't and the crowd remained safely faceless.

At some point, Derek pulled them out of the crowd and their little group gathered at the bar again. Somebody ordered beer. They were all laughing. Brian was kissing Julia, rather passionately. Alex looked away, and found himself staring into Jennifer's eyes. He looked up. Sally was staring at them. She raised her eyebrows, then held up her hands, as in defeat. He grinned at her, a little foolishly. Jennifer saw him looking and tugged his arm.

"Let's go to the beach," she said.

Somehow, his glass was empty again, and he let her pull him through the crowd. Behind him, Brian and Derek started cheering and yelling insinuations, which he ignored. Jennifer, he noticed, blushed.

Suddenly, they were outside in the still warm summer evening air. The bright neon lights were still on, lighting the square. There were people everywhere, mostly couples, some groups, loud and rowdy. Jennifer tugged his arm. He staggered.

"Whoa," he muttered.

He had never drunk that much before, had always been careful. Somehow, all his care had gone out of the window when faced with pretty girls. He looked at the cause of his present state. Jennifer gazed at him with glazed eyes. She, he realized, was drunk too, maybe even more so. She stepped closer, pressing her body against his.

"Do you like me?" she asked, breathing into his face.

She almost fell down then, and he managed to catch her without falling down himself. She looked surprised, which made him laugh. Then she giggled and leaned into him.

"Well?" she asked.

"I like you," he said, his voice hoarse.

She giggled again, hugged him and then suddenly pushed him away from her.

"Come," she said, taking his hand, "To the beach. It's quiet there."

No no no, his brain said, don't go there. You don't want this. His body, however, had other ideas. He let her pull him down the street, across the rail road crossing and onto the soft sand of the beach. Jennifer immediately turned south, towards their hangout. He followed.

Twice, they passed a couple, laying down on the beach, doing... Alex didn't look. The fresh air made him come to his senses somewhat, and he realized just how much control he was missing. He didn't like being drunk. Sure, the feeling was nice, he felt like giggling and laughing the whole time, but at the same time, he knew he wasn't himself. He liked being in control. And right now, he wasn't.

When they reached the rocks Derek and Brian had been sitting on that very same morning, Jennifer turned around, stepped close to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his. He almost choked on the sensation. He looked down into her eyes, knowing what was expected of him now. Then he closed his eyes, bent his head forward a little and kissed her.

The closing his eyes part was a mistake. The world spun around him, and he felt himself spin and twirl with it. Before he knew it, he was on the ground. Jennifer let out an 'oumph', but didn't waste much time in grabbing him and pulling him close again. The spinning continued for a while, and he felt himself slipping again.

Breathing heavily through his nose, he kissed her more frantically, and she responded likewise. Her hands tousled his hair and then gripped it, holding his head in place. He didn't mind one bit, grabbed her wrists and pinned her to the ground. All thoughts about taking it easy, not getting too close, too involved, vanished out of the window. His mind in a haze, he let himself get swept away in the moment, and later he couldn't have said where they would have ended up if a though hadn't suddenly struck him.

If only this was Sabina...

He stopped and pulled away. This was nice. But it wasn't supposed to be nice. It was work. He was working. Spying. And although he liked Jennifer, he wasn't in love with her. She was a nice enough girl, and her spirit and zest for life reminded him a little bit of Sabina, but she just wasn't her. He didn't really know where he stood with Sabina, if he really was in love with her, but for her to jump into his mind at a moment like this was telling.

Jennifer looked up at him. Her eyes glittered in the dim light coming from the distant neon lights. Would it really be wrong? He kissed her again, slowly this time, moving his hand up from her hips to her back, wiggling his fingers under the hem of her top and then moving up again.

Oh yes, nice. He stopped again.

Slowly, he pushed her away a little and opened his eyes. "Hey," he said.

She looked at him. He almost kissed her again, started to lean in even.

"I'll take you home," he whispered.

* * *

_OK, I hope the whole make out scene worked out... rewrote the thing three times._

_Thanks again for reviewing: Secret Spy Guy, darkmoon999, bethster102, Anne, Emmy-loo, bb, Chaos Dragon, Kat-tun-lvr, Eldunari, hello93bye._

_Short (hopefully) reply to hello93bye (can't respond to you any other way): Yes, you're absolutely right (except for the tastes bad thing, but that's personal :). And I know from personal experience too. Still, I think it's possible to drink alcohol in a responsible manner. Obviously, that isn't what they were doing in this chapter, however, this is what actually happens (been there, done that, got the t-shirt) when a group of young (or not so young) people go out. If you didn't like this chapter, then I hope you'll like the next one... _

_That wasn't short. Sorry about that._


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

**Chapter 7**

* * *

The water in his face woke him up. He spluttered and flailed his arms and finally managed to crack open one eye, which he regretted instantly. Bright sunlight in his room. Painful, bright sunlight. He groaned and rolled on his stomach, burying his face in his pillow.

"Come on, Alex, rise and shine."

Craig's voice was way too chipper. If Alex were to think about it, he'd say it was gleeful. A hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to his back again.

"Go away," Alex groaned.

The room was still spinning, almost as badly as it had the night before, when he had had trouble inserting his key card into the lock. Three attempts before he had discovered he had it upside down. When he had managed to enter his room, he had been just in time to reach the bathroom before throwing up. Not fun.

"Had a good time, Alex? Did you get anywhere with her? Does she like you already?"

Hazed blue eyes, almost fluttering closed, her hair all sandy from lying on the beach. He had had to drag her up, had had to support her all the way back to the square. Once there, he had hailed a taxi and had explained in fluent Spanish to the driver where to take her. Then, to make sure he really did, he had gone with her and had taken her all the way to her house. Once there, he had managed to wake her up long enough so that she could stumble to her house.

She had recited the code of the lock to the side entrance to him, slurring the numbers while pressing them. And even in his intoxicated state, he had memorized them. For later reference. He had watched her stagger to the kitchen door, and prudently stepped behind the wall when a tall figure appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. Alex couldn't see his face, but he surmised this must be her father, Jason Carnegie, waiting for his daughter to come home. He didn't think the man would be very pleased with him, so he hid. The taxi had brought him back to his hotel.

"Yeah, she likes me. Now piss off," Alex said, closing his eyes again.

The next thing he knew he was flying off the bed. Gasping, he landed on the floor, clutching his side. He heard Craig round the bed and stop a short distance away from him.

"Get up."

He moaned. A foot suddenly pressed down on his chest.

"That'll bruise nicely," Craig said ruthlessly, "She's bound to notice when you take off your shirt. Now get up. It's Eleven thirty. Go sleep it off on the beach."

Footsteps, moving away from him, then a door, closing. All went quiet. Alex brought his hands to his head and started rubbing his eyes. Then he rolled to his stomach, pushed himself up and struggled to his feet, using the bed to steady himself. Slowly, he made his way to the bathroom. When faced with the toilet, his stomach did a couple of flip flops, but he managed to quell the feeling of wanting to throw up. He looked in the mirror instead, leaning on the sink.

He looked like crap. Bloodshot eyes. Pale under his tan. Eyes only half open.

"Bloody hell," he muttered.

He bent over and splashed some cold water into his face. Then, becoming aware of the foul taste in his mouth, he drank some and proceeded to brush his teeth. When he looked up again he looked only marginally better. It'd have to do. He supposed the others weren't feeling much better, so, again, he'd blend right in.

He sauntered back into his room, quickly undressed and put on fresh clothes, hindered by the sore spot on his ribs. He looked at it. Not much to see now, just some redness. He was sure, however, that Craig was right. It'd turn into another nasty bruise later that day. He straightened, moved his arms, swayed his hips. Painful, but not incapacitating. Craig knew what he was doing.

Angered by that thought, he grabbed his towel and left the room. Breakfast would be long over now, but he didn't really feel like eating anyway. He stepped down the stairs, sliding his hand on the railing, down to the lobby. Craig came into view, waiting impatiently by the door.

"Finally," the man grumbled, "What took you so long?"

"You should know," Alex countered.

A flash of anger flew across Craig's face, before going impassive once more. Then he suddenly smiled and put his arm around Alex's shoulders.

"Come on, son," he said, his voice a mixture of sternness and amusement, "Let this be a lesson for you. You got drunk, now you've got to deal with the consequences."

They stepped outside, and Alex quickly put on his sunglasses, both to hide his bloodshot eyes and to keep the pounding headache under control. They walked to their spot on the beach, and Craig claimed the same parasol as the day before. Alex looked at the rocks. There was nobody there yet, unsurprisingly. He dropped his towel on the sand, straightened it a little and then laid down on it, making sure he was in the shade. It wouldn't do to get sunburned. He looked at Craig, who was rummaging through his bag and finally took out a camera with a long lens.

"What's that for?" he asked, "Holiday snapshots?"

Craig smirked and peered through the lens at him. Alex heard the clear click of a photo being taken and looked even more annoyed. He watched as Craig swung the thing from left to right, checking out the beach, the rocks and the boats in the water.

"Carlos's boat left Barcelona last night," he said, "I'm checking if he shows up here."

"What does that mean?" Alex asked, "He's coming here?"

Craig shrugged. "Who knows. But it'd be worth knowing if he does."

Alex rested his head on the ground and closed his eyes, in an attempt to give his eyes some rest. He never realized how painful sunlight could be.

"Does he suspect something?" he asked, "Or Carnegie?"

Craig remained silent for a moment. "I don't know," he said finally, "I think Carnegie most certainly knows we're on to him. But he's looking for agents, MI6 spies. Not the drunk teenage boyfriend of his daughter."

"Thanks a lot," Alex grumbled.

Deciding he'd had enough of Craig for the day, he closed his eyes and simply let himself drift.

_The limousine pulled up. Alex was on his stomach, peering through the sight, waiting for the arms dealer to get out of he car. He felt the mild sea breeze tug at his balaclava, brush his hands lightly, move some dust. He was calm. Composed. Quiet. Like the breeze._

_The the front door of the car opened, the driver got out. Alex looked at him through the sight, tightening his grip on the trigger. Bang, he thought. Just like that. Did the man sense that he was only millimetres away from his death? Was there a way in which you could know? Then he thought about the attempt on his own life, the surprise he had felt, the sudden hole that had appeared in his chest._

_No. There was no way of knowing. Which meant it could happen any time. How many times had somebody looked at him like the way he was now looking at the driver of the car, who was looking around, checking his environment before allowing his passengers to get out?_

_A door in the rear opened. Another man stepped out, and Alex moved a little to look at him through the sight. Not him. He waited, breathing slowly. Not long now. Seconds, maybe. Seconds, and then he would take a life. Just because he could. Because he was holding the gun, because he was calm and not shaking in fear as he should be. He wasn't even feeling particularly guilty._

_Another door opened. A small, balding man stepped out and turned around. Alex looked at his face. A familiar face, a face he had studied on the photographs. This was it. This was the guy. _

Something bounced on his stomach and he grunted. Pounding footsteps, then a shower of sand on his face. Somebody fell down beside him.

"Hey. Alex."

Slowly, he opened his eyes and squinted at his attacker. Derek grinned at him, laying on his stomach in the sand next to Alex, his left hand on an old, tattered football.

"D'you play?" he asked.

Alex started grinning too. He pushed himself up and glanced at Craig, who was looking at them with an amused look on his face. More people joined Derek, boys in all different sizes, ages and possibly nationalities. Some girls too, he saw. Tory was there, chewing gum. And Jennifer.

The moment he caught her eye, she looked away. He blinked, and then slowly got to his feet. To his satisfaction, he noticed that he was feeling a whole lot better. Pretty good, in fact. And hungry. He turned to Craig.

"Dad, did you bring anything to eat?" he asked.

Craig grinned and pointed at the bag next to him. Alex walked over, crouched next to him and started rummaging through its contents. He fished out a slightly greasy ham and cheese sandwich in a plastic wrapping and a warm coke. He frowned.

"That's it?" he asked.

"Beggars can't be choosers," Craig said, shrugging. "You slept the whole afternoon. If you hadn't drunk so much last night..."

"Yeah, yeah," Alex muttered.

He unwrapped the sandwich and quickly shoved it into his mouth, then opened the can of coke and downed half of it before looking up at his friends, still waiting patiently. Derek, holding the ball, had gotten to his feet again and was tapping his foot. The fact that he was doing it in the sand sort of spoiled the effect, but the message was clear. Hurry up.

He took another sip and stood up. Next to him, Craig did the same, looking at the group of teens and pre-teens waiting for his 'son'. Alex looked at him from the corner of his eyes, trying to drink his warm coke as quickly as possible. Craig smiled at the waiting group, turned to Alex and playfully punched his arm.

The strangest thing happened then. Later, Alex couldn't quite explain what exactly it was that happened. Craig smiled. And punched. Not hard, just a playful punch, a father joking with his son. Alex flinched.

He caught himself almost immediately and looked at his friends in alarm, hoping they hadn't seen it. Derek stared at him. Behind him, Tory raised her eyebrows. Jennifer looked... horrified. He turned to Craig and glared at him. Craig looked back at him, a mixture of surprise and satisfaction on his face. Then Alex realized that his reaction was exactly what Craig had been hoping for, what he had been playing for when he had hit him the previous times, unexpectedly, out of nowhere. To get just that reaction from Alex. He felt himself get angry. He wanted to shout at him, to stop his manipulative little games with him, but he couldn't, not in front of all these people. Instead, he demonstratively dropped the half empty can in the sand, causing some of it to splash out and spilling on both their legs. Then he quickly took off.

What really got to him was that it had taken only two blows to get him to flinch like that.

There were twelve of them, nine boys and three girls. Derek stepped in the middle of the group, in charge because he owned the ball. They quickly divided themselves into two groups, defined two goals by commandeering four brightly coloured plastic buckets from several small children playing close by, and then set off. Derek threw the ball into the air. Alex, in attack position, caught it on his chest, let it bounce to his feet and tried to rush through the other team's defence, hoping they wouldn't expect that.

They didn't, but there was Derek. He was tackled from behind and he smacked into the sand face first. He quickly rolled to his back and jumped to his feet.

"You'd be suspended for that if this were a real game," he said accusingly.

Derek grinned. "I _am_ suspended from the real game," he said.

He kicked the ball and started running in the other direction. The game became rowdy after that, and in fact the only reason no injuries occurred was that the soft sand not only broke their fall, but also tired them quickly. The smaller children quickly learned to avoid Derek and Alex, who were quite evenly matched. Alex, because he was fast and the better player, technically. Derek because he wasn't afraid to simply run down anybody who got in his way. The first match – ended only because half of the players were sitting on the ground, panting – resulted in a five to four victory for Alex's team.

Alex was standing in the middle of the 'field', bent over with his hands on his knees. Sweat was dripping off him, small drops landing in the sand. He wiped his wet hair out of his face and looked up. Jennifer was sitting next to a blue upside down bucket that defined their goal, her arms wrapped around her knees. She was looking at him. He smiled at her, straightened and walked to her.

"Hey, Jennifer, good game," he said, dropping down next to her.

She shrugged. "It was all right," she said, looking straight ahead.

"Hey, we won!" he said.

She smiled and shot him a short glance before quickly looking away again. He wasn't quite sure why she was acting like that all of a sudden.

"Was it something I said?" he asked.

She looked at him, then, in surprise. "What?" she asked.

"Was it something I said?" he repeated, "Or did. Did I do something wrong last night? I thought... you wanted... you seemed like..."

Jennifer turned scarlet and buried her head between her knees.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice muffled, "I made a fool of myself last night. I don't usually do these kind of things."

"Do what?" Alex asked.

She looked up. "Drink too much. Dragging a boy I barely know to the beach to... you know."

"Ah," Alex said. He wiped the sweat of his brow. It was already past five o'clock, but the sun was shining mercilessly down on them.

"You must think I'm a total slut," she said.

Alex shook his head. "I don't think that," he said. He hesitated. "I thought... maybe... you liked me."

"Oh I do, I do like you... I mean..." She blushed again. "Maybe that's why I feel so embarrassed by the whole thing. Really, I don't normally act this way. It's just... Sally was dancing with you and it shouldn't piss me off but it did, because I found you first..."

Alex put a what he hoped was a dismayed look on his face. "You mean this is some sort of competition?" he asked.

"No! Of course not!" She placed a hand on his knee. It was warm, he noticed, and a bit sandy. "It's just that everything is so... I don't know. My dad has been acting so strangely lately. And I broke up with my boyfriend back home, and I..."

"So you got lonely," Alex said, purposefully accusingly, "And here I was, thinking you liked me back."

She let go of his knee and put her hands in her hair, pulling it in frustration. "Why can't I just say what I mean!" she moaned, "I keep saying things and hurting you and I don't mean to." She looked at him. "Wait. Like you back?"

Now it was Alex's turn to blush, which he managed quite nicely by thinking about their encounter the previous night. He looked at his feet.

"Um," he said, "I do like you." Sabina, he thought, I like Sabina.

"Really?"

He looked up again. She was grinning. He grinned back at her. He was just about to say something when Derek gave a shout.

"Hey! Lovebirds! Get up! We want a rematch!"

Alex groaned. "It's too hot," he said, pulling at his t-shirt a few times to let in some air.

"Take of your shirt then," Jennifer said, getting up, "Everybody else does."

Alex got up too and looked around. Most of the boys had shed their t-shirts, throwing them in one big heap next to their improvised football field.

"No, that's all right," he said, "I'm not that hot."

She stared at him. Then she stepped closer. "What are you hiding, Alex?" she asked.

He took a step back. "Nothing."

"Then take off your shirt."

He grinned nervously at her. "You know, it's really tempting to do just that when you put it like that, but don't you think we should be alone for..."

"Take. It. Off."

Derek, who was approaching them with an impatient look on his face, caught her last words. He laughed.

"Yes, Alex, take off your shirt so the ladies can swoon over your six pack..."

Alex glared at him. Then, having no other option, he pulled his shirt over his head. Jennifer gasped.

"Oh my... what happened?"

Alex looked down. A black bruise, at least ten centimetres long, adorned his chest on the left side. He had to admit, it was impressive. He'd have to get back at Craig for that some day.

"Slipped in the bathroom," he said.

"Bullshit," Jennifer said.

Alex put an angry scowl on his face. He walked past her and Derek and set course for the rest of the group, waiting in the middle of their play field.

"Why don't you trust me?" Jennifer said.

He stopped, but didn't turn around. "I trust you," he said.

"Then why won't you tell me how you got those bruises?"

He turned, slowly. "I already told you. I'm clumsy."

With that last remark, he knew, he took away any doubts she still had. I'm clumsy. Every abused boy in the book used that sentence. Feeling like a jerk, he joined the waiting group. Derek followed. Jennifer was still staring at him. Then, reluctantly, she too rejoined the game.

* * *

_Thanks for reviewing: Emmy-loo, crazy-taxi, dyingimmortal, darkmoon999, Secret Spy Guy, Anne, Chaos Dragon, Jusmine._


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I know it's short again, but this chapter should somewhat satisfy you Craig haters out there... :)

* * *

**Chapter 8**

* * *

"So, things are going pretty well between you and Jennifer," Craig said over dinner. "And she's home tonight? Because of what happened last night?"

The restaurant of the hotel was noisy, people were chatting, some music was playing in the background and children were running around, screaming. Alex and Craig were seated at a small table close to the door, not the most comfortable place, but with the people constantly moving around them it did provide for a surprising amount of privacy. Hearing what they were saying was impossible from more than a metre away.

Alex nodded. "Yes, she is grounded for tonight. And I think I managed to convince her you're the one causing these bruises," he said, "Which wasn't that hard considering it's true." He frowned. "Wait. How do you know what happened last night?"

Craig laughed and stabbed a piece of meat on his plate with his fork. "I've got to hand it to you Alex, you really don't waste time charming a girl out of her skirt."

Alex almost choked on his beans. "You were there?"

"Sure I was. Got to keep an eye on you, don't I. Why'd you stop?"

"Why did I... why you... I wasn't going to... I can't do that to her! She was drunk!"

"So were you."

"Not _that_ drunk!"

"Could have fooled me."

Alex glared at Craig, who smiled back lightly. "I need for her to trust me if she is going to let me into the house," he said, "And she certainly won't ever trust me again if I took advantage of her like that."

Craig shook his head. "And that was what you were thinking while you were making out with her? Hello? Teenage boy? Are you human at all?"

Alex's eyes flashed in anger. "I'm just doing my job," he said coolly, "Nothing more. I have... I shouldn't... I don't want to _use_ a girl like that. And besides, there's this other girl I like, and it would just be wrong."

"You have a girlfriend?"

"N-no. Not really. And she sort of moved to California." He looked down at his plate and pushed it away.

"They why not go for some action here? There's nothing wrong with enjoying your work you know. I'm not saying you should, I think you handled it quite well there and your reasoning is sound, I'm just curious. Any boy would have jumped at the chance."

"I'm not any boy. And you're a lousy father."

"I probably am," Craig agreed, taking a sip from his wine. "Anyway. If your seducing her doesn't work, the abused child act certainly will. Girls fall for that. Good job on the denial."

Alex rubbed the sore spot on his chest. In a few days, he knew, it would start to itch like crazy. It was a superficial bruise, within two weeks it would be completely gone. Which was just as well, as he didn't want to show up in school all banged up again. It was just too hard to explain.

Alex leaned closer. "If you ever hit me without warning again, I won't hold back."

A slow smile crept onto Craig's face. "I'd love to see you try," he said, "But that's not the issue here, Alex. Quit thinking it's personal. I like you. You're good, young as you are. To be honest, you intrigue me. We could turn you into a really good agent, if you'd let us."

Alex looked down at his plate, which was almost empty. They were sitting in the restaurant of the hotel. The food was OK, neither particularly good nor particularly bad. Just normal hotel stuff.

"I don't want to be good at this," he muttered.

Craig laughed. "Sure you do. Otherwise you wouldn't be good at it in the first place."

Alex shook his head. "It started as a game. Ian, my uncle, would ask me to do certain things. For instance, when I was about seven or eight, he took me to Germany and asked me to pretend to be German. And I speak really good German. It was fun. I even pretended not to understand any English. And then Ian was happy." He looked up. "But it wasn't a game to Ian. He was training me. Using me. Just like you're using me now. I'll never get away from it, will I?"

Craig looked pensive, swirling the wine in his glass. Alex stared at the glass, wondering. Wondering why Craig was drinking wine.

"I don't know," Craig said, "Do you really want to?"

Alex was silent. Did he? Didn't he want to be normal, goof off with his friends without worrying they'd find out what he really was? Play football, be on the team again. Follow his dream, becoming a professional football player... did he still want that? He stared at the now empty glass Craig was putting down, kept staring at it while Craig summoned the waiter and watched as the man refilled the glass.

"Why are you drinking?" he asked.

Craig raised his eyebrows. "Why not?" he asked, "It's not like I go out and pour beer into my head as fast as possible like some boy I know, am I?"

Alex glared at him. "I didn't have a choice there," he said.

Craig looked sombre. "You always have a choice," he said.

Alex waved his hand. "Quit changing the subject," he said.

Craig raised his eyebrows. "Did we have a subject?"

Alex slammed down his knife. "Yes," he hissed, "Your drinking. I thought that an ex-alcoholic could never drink again."

"You thought wrong, obviously." Craig's eyes avoided Alex's.

"I don't think so. You looked like crap the first morning. Hungover even. And you are supposed to have my back? As a drunk?"

Craig's eyes flashed angrily. "I'm not a drunk," he said, "I just... slipped. That's all. I slipped. Once. I have it under control now. Can we go back to our assignment now, how to woo the girl into letting you into her house?"

He brought the glass to his mouth. To Alex's dismay, his hand was shaking badly.

"Bloody hell," Craig muttered, putting the glass back down.

Alex got up. "Come on," he said, "We're done eating. Let's get out of here, go outside. No more drinking, OK?"

"Yes dad," Craig muttered, but he did manage to produce a smile and got up. Together, they walked out on the terrace, which was deserted since everybody was still eating their dinner. Craig walked to the edge and looked out into the street. Alex joined him.

"Why?" he asked.

Craig started feeling around in his pockets, but then stopped. "I quit smoking," he muttered.

"And that's the reason you're drinking?" Alex asked incredulously.

Craig shook his head. "She made me stop. Told me it was either the cigarettes go or..."

"... Or she goes?" Alex asked, "Who is 'she'?"

Craig remained silent. He sat down in one of the chairs and leaned his elbows on a table. Seemingly automatically, his right hand went to touch his left hand, his fingers touching the place where a ring would be, were he to be married. Alex remembered the scratched wedding band he had worn on their previous assignment together. He looked closer. He could clearly see a tan line, despite their sunbathing for the past two days. He had worn that ring often...

"Selma?" he asked, "You are actually married to her? To that assassin?" He started laughing. "Oh, that's rich. Posing as a couple. You _are_ a couple. Does Blunt know? And you can't handle being without her, that's why you're drinking again..."

He didn't see it coming. Again. Pain exploded in his head, and he found himself on the ground without remembering falling down. Stars danced in front of his eyes and he squeezed them shut a few times to try and clear his vision. The two Craigs looming over him merged into one, staring down angrily at him, fists still clenched.

"You bastard," Alex said.

He tried to get up, but Craig bent down and pushed him back. Then he put his fingers right beneath Alex's right eye and pressed. Alex hissed in pain.

"Good," Craig said, his voice hoarse, "Give it a couple of hours, don't put anything on it, no ice. Then go and see your girlfriend. Ask her if you can stay at her house because I hit you again. Now get up before somebody sees us."

And arrest you, Alex thought. He was breathing heavily, and in absolutely no hurry to get up.

"Why?" he asked.

Craig stepped back, looking around impatiently. "Get up," he said, "Dinner is ending. People will come to the terrace soon."

"Why?" Alex asked stubbornly.

Craig looked tired all of a sudden. He shrugged. "Selma's missing," he said, "And in our business, when you're missing... but you know all about that, don't you."

"Oh."

Alex worked himself up to a sitting position and then accepted Craig's hand to pull him up. Once on his feet, he swayed a little. He tried to frown, but found that that was painful. He looked angrily at Craig, who stepped aside to let him pass. He took the invitation, shoulders seemingly slumped in defeat. When he passed the other man, he pretended to stumble. Craig's hands shot forward to catch him, and at that moment, Alex balled his fist and planted it right into the man's stomach. He put all his weight behind the punch – which, admittedly wasn't all that much – and Craig, who had obviously not been expecting that particular move, started to double over. Before he could complete that move, however, Alex, using his other fist, planted an uppercut against his chin. Craig went down with a thud.

Panting, looking around to check they were still alone on the terrace, Alex steadied himself against one of the flimsy terrace tables. He looked down at Craig, who was moving his hands, flailing a little until he touched his face. He opened his eyes and looked up at Alex.

"OK," he muttered, "I deserved that."

"You bet you did," Alex said, trying to keep his anger under control now that the man was down, "Now get up before somebody sees us."

Craig let out a short, pained laugh when hearing his own words thrown back into his face and scrambled to his feet, rubbing his chin. He didn't stand up completely straight though, and he looked a bit green. Alex studied him carefully, making sure the man wouldn't suddenly turn on him the same way he had. But Craig left him alone, and simply sauntered off the terrace, through the lobby and up the stairs. Alex followed him.

* * *

_Many thanks to dyingimmortal, Emmy-loo, Anne, darkmoon999, Alo Amicus, Drayconette, Secret Spy Guy, Chaos Dragon, arrowheadhunter, bethster102 for reviewing!_


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

**Chapter 9**

* * *

Alex had been walking for almost an hour before finally the white Carnegie house came into view. He stopped for a moment, repositioned his backpack and then started walking again. The darkness here was overwhelming, now that he was out of reach from the town's bright lights. The only light came from the lighthouse on top of the hill he just passed, and the house in the distance. He had stumbled a few times in the pot holes that were at the side of the road, but luckily had managed to stay upright. And now that he was getting closer to the house, he could see better.

He looked suitably worn out now. He had walked the whole way from the hotel, carrying his backpack that contained some clothes and, most importantly, the Game Boy and the various other gadgets Smithers had given him. Craig had suggested the walk instead of driving him there, saying he needed to look the part and he sort of agreed. He just wished it didn't have to be him all the time that had to do the work. Craig was just the backup, he could sit back and relax and monitor his communicator in case Alex needed help.

"I'll be close by the whole time," he had said, "Don't worry, Alex, everything will be fine. You just go in, crack the safe and look what's in there. I'll be watching the house with the infra-red binoculars. Don't do anything else, just look, OK?"

Alex had nodded. He knew it never was quite that simple, but he hadn't argued. There was no point. Craig was convinced of his own cleverness, and, truth be told, Alex reluctantly agreed. Jennifer would never just invite him into the house unless something unusual happened. Like, maybe, a boy fleeing an abusive father.

"She'll have to let you in, and if you show up late enough, they'll let you stay the night. Jason won't be able to refuse his daughter. And he'll never suspect you to be anything else but who you appear to be."

It all made sense. Still, Alex knew that nothing ever went according to plan. He had reminded Craig of their previous assignment, how Selma had been arrested, and Craig had dismissed it. They'd gotten the job done anyway, didn't they? Alex had shut up after that, purposefully not looking at the smirk on Craig's face.

"You'd better be close by, Craig," he muttered, avoiding some stones that had rolled down the slope and had fallen partially on the dusty road.

When he reached the iron gate in the wall that surrounded the Carnegie house, he stopped and glanced around. Nobody to be seen, all was dark and quiet. The crickets had stopped chirping long ago, and the sound of the surf down at the beach didn't reach this far inland. In fact, it was so quiet he thought he could hear the drum of his own heart.

He studied the gate. There was an intercom on the wall next to it. Then he looked at the house and shivered, despite the warm summer night air. Everything seemed brighter to him now, more intense, as if he hadn't been living before, just existing. The way the sea breeze brushed his bare arms, the scent of the flowers coming from the garden surrounding the house, and the absolute clarity with which he could see every detail of the house ten metres away. Lights were on downstairs and in one of the rooms upstairs. Jason, in the living room or in his study, he thought, and maybe Jennifer in her room, sulking. He sighed, shook himself out of the strange mood he was in, put his thumb on the button on the intercom and pressed it. It took the occupants of the house a few moments to answer.

"Si? Quién es?" A male voice, slightly irritated. Jason.

"Um," Alex said, letting his voice waver a little, "My name is Alex Parker. I'm a friend of Jennifer's..."

"What? What are you doing here this late! It's almost eleven! Go home, or to your hotel, or tent, or wherever you're staying, boy. Come back tomorrow."

A figure appeared at the brightly lit window on the first floor. He couldn't really see her, but he knew it was Jennifer, looking out. She was sure to see him, standing in the light of the lamp next to the gate. Then she disappeared.

"Mr Carnegie please," Alex said, "I just... I have nowhere to go."

"What do you mean, you're here with your parents, right? Or are you here on your own? Did you get kicked out of your hotel?"

The front door burst open and Jennifer rushed out and ran down the path leading to the gate. Alex averted his gaze and looked at his shoes, as if trying to hide his face. She came to a full stop just inside the gate and put her hands on the bars.

"Alex?" she asked, "What's wrong? What happened? Why are you here?"

He looked up. She gasped. "Oh no, look at your face, did he hit you again?"

Alex looked down again and swallowed. "I... my dad... he didn't mean it, it's just, when he's drunk... ever since my mother died he... I have nowhere to go." He looked up and shot her a pleading look. "I thought, maybe, just for tonight, and then he'll have slept it off..."

Jennifer was already unlocking the gate, punching in a code on a keypad next to it. She yanked it open and grabbed his arm, pulling him inside. Alex let himself be pulled, and resisted the urge to look back and smirk into the darkness where he suspected Craig. At the front door of the house, a man had appeared, the man from the picture in Blunt's office. Jason Carnegie. Innocent, hard working patriot or treacherous double agent. Alex would find out tonight.

Jennifer stopped pulling when she reached her father. She looked up at him, and then punched Alex's arm to get him to look up as well. Seemingly reluctantly, he did. Carnegie frowned at him.

"Dad, this is Alex, remember, I told you about him."

Carnegie's frown deepened, but now he suddenly seemed interested. "You brought my daughter home last night," he said.

Alex nodded, but stayed quiet, trying to go for the intimidated boyfriend act, which he had very little trouble imagining. The man looked imposing.

"What happened to your face?"

Alex took a deep breath, then looked at Jennifer. "I... somebody hit me."

"You mean your father hit you!" Jennifer exclaimed.

Alex shrugged. Jennifer grabbed his arm.

"You can tell us, Alex. We'll help you. Right dad?"

"Well...," Carnegie started.

He looked hesitant. Jennifer looked up at him with pleading eyes.

"We can't send him away, dad. Look at what his father did to him." She turned to Alex. "You don't ever have to go back to that bastard!"

Alex started shaking his head and took a step back. He didn't want Carnegie to feel that he had to act on Alex's behalf, he just wanted to have the man agree to let him stay for one night. If he thought for one moment he'd be stuck with Alex, he'd send him away, he was sure of that.

"Look," he said, "It's just for tonight. My dad will be fine in the morning. I just have to be out of his way for now."

Jennifer looked incredulous. "He hits you! You can't go back to him!"

"He's my father," Alex said stubbornly.

Carnegie sighed and stepped aside. "Come in," he said, "Let's sort this out inside."

Jennifer beamed at him and the tall man seemed to melt a little. He smiled at his daughter. Alex followed them inside, suppressing the feeling that he was intruding in their world, that he had no right to be there at all. They seemed like nice people. Not crooks at all. Did Jason Carnegie really steal sensitive information from the ministry of defence?

He was led into a living room with a large flat screen TV hanging on the wall. Alex looked around, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Couch with a flowery pattern, and two matching comfortable chairs. Coffee table with a scratched surface, as if somebody had the habit of putting his feet on the table, something, Alex was sure, would never have been allowed had Mrs Carnegie been alive. Against the wall, a wooden dinner table with four wooden chairs, old, but functional. Alex sat down on the couch. Jennifer sat down next to him, grabbed his hand and then looked defiantly at her father.

Carnegie, to Alex's surprise, rolled his eyes and sat down in one of the chairs opposite them.

"All right," he said, crossing his legs, "Tell me what happened. That bruise didn't happen recently, it must have been several hours ago. Didn't take you that long to get here."

Alex shifted in his seat. Jason Carnegie was no fool, he was going to check his story. He had to make it sound believable. Like, for instance, a confused teenager.

"I was just... wandering about. I thought of Jennifer only an hour ago, so I walked here."

Carnegie leaned closer and inspected the bruise, his face betraying nothing. Alex flinched and moved his head back a little. Jennifer squeezed his hand.

"Don't worry, Alex," she said, "My father can be very nice when he's not grumpy. Or grounding me."

"That was your own doing, young lady," Carnegie said, leaning back again, "Coming home drunk at three AM? I don't think we had agreed on that."

Jennifer pouted, but her eyes twinkled. Carnegie smiled good humouredly at her. Alex felt his spirits drop. If Jennifer really had been his girlfriend, her father was just the kind of man he would have liked to have as some sort of replacement father figure. A second Ian, easy going, laid back, good to talk to but secretive. She had it. He'd lost it. Quickly, he looked at the floor, suddenly unsure his eyes wouldn't betray the jealousy he felt. Carnegie's voice made him look up again.

"Look," he said, "You're welcome to stay the night. We have a guest room you can use. But I'm going to call your father."

Alex shrugged. "You can try," he said, "But I doubt he'll answer. He'll be out in some loud bar somewhere. He never answers his phone."

Carnegie waved his hand impatiently. "Then I'll call the hotel and leave a message for him, that OK?"

Alex nodded and gave him the name and number of the hotel he and Craig were staying at. Carnegie got up and walked to the other side of the room to pick up the phone. Jennifer hugged him. Tentatively, he hugged her back.

"I'm glad you came to me," she whispered, "Sally and I were suspecting something, you know. I'm... I'm just happy that you're here."

And not with Sally, she meant. Alex allowed himself a small, rueful smile. Then Carnegie came back.

"Your father is not in his room. They said they'd pass the message on. Come." He beckoned Alex. "It's late. I'll show you your room." He looked at the backpack. "What were you planning, anyway?"

Alex got up and heaved the backpack on his shoulder. "I wasn't sure. I was running away, I guess, but I ended up not knowing where to go, being in Spain and all, and my father has my passport. So I was going to go and sleep on the beach, and then I thought of Jennifer."

Carnegie nodded and preceded Alex into the hall, up the stairs and then to a room at the end of the hallway. He opened the door and allowed Alex to step inside. It was a small room, with nothing but a bed with a multicoloured beadspread and a wardrobe in it. A few pictures on the wall showing people in old fashioned clothes, a small rug on the wooden floor next to the bed. Carnegie left and Alex dropped his backpack on the floor next to the bed. The rug shifted. Jennifer pushed passed him, bent down and straightened it.

"Be careful of that," she said, "It's just for decoration. Not very practical."

She straightened and smiled. Then Carnegie came back, carrying sheets.

"You'll have to make the bed," he said apologetically, "I wasn't expecting anybody, of course." He gave Jennifer a stern look. "Leave the door open while you're in here," he instructed her.

He turned and left. Jennifer watched him go, then turned to Alex and giggled. "Come on," she said, grabbing Alex's arm, something that seemed to become a habit of her, "I'll show you my room."

She pulled him across the hallway – "That's the bathroom, Alex" – to a door which was painted dark blue. She opened it, let him inside and then made to close the door behind her, smirking at Alex.

"Leave _your _door open too, Jennifer," Carnegie shouted, "And don't _talk_ for too long. Like I said. It's late."

Jennifer rolled her eyes, but did as he said. She flopped down on the bed and patted the covers to invite Alex to join her. He sat down beside her and viewed the room.

It wasn't a typical girls room. A poster of 'The Dark Night' hung on the wall, black and imposing. Another poster, with some mystical unicorn in an impossible landscape. Lots of pictures of friends, a few of herself and her father on a boat, one of a blond woman, smiling serenely. Her mother, he thought. A dresser, a closet, a desk with a laptop on it. Rug on the floor. That was it.

"Nice room," he said.

She nodded and leaned back. "I like it here," she said, "Dad bought this place last year. We've been here every holiday since. It's nice. I have a great view from up here."

Alex looked outside, but couldn't really see much because it was dark. He looked at her.

"Your dad is rich then," he said.

A troubled shadow crossed Jennifer's face, but then she smiled again. "I wouldn't know," she said, "Obviously rich enough to afford this place. I'm glad he is. I love it here." She looked him in the eyes. "I wish your vacation was a better one than it is. This place is so great, Alex. I've made so many new friends here. And I can go scuba diving and water skiing, and go shopping in Barcelona if my dad lets me have his credit card. Have you ever been to Barcelona?"

"No," Alex lied.

"It's beautiful! We should go together! I'll show you the Ramblas, and the Sagrada Familia, you know, the church they're building, and..."

Alex took a deep breath. "I'd love to," he said, "But we're leaving the day after tomorrow, my dad can't afford..."

"Oh." She looked down again. Then she perked up. "At least give me your address and phone number back in England, we could get together there sometime then."

"Yes, sure," Alex said, "Have you got something to write on?"

After giving her his address – a fake one – Alex got up. "I'm really tired," he said, "I would really like to..."

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Jennifer had jumped up, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. After the initial shock, he kissed her back. After a few moments, she leaned back and looked him in the eyes.

"You don't mind, do you?" she asked.

"I mind. Alex. I think it's time you retired to your own room."

Alex quickly let go and Jennifer stepped back, blushing. Alex felt his face heat up too. With one last look at the girl he had just kissed, he walked past a scowling Jason Carnegie, crossed the hallway and entered what was to be his room for the night. He closed the door behind him, retrieved his backpack from the floor, straightened the rug again and put it on the bed. He took out the Game Boy, plugged the earphone into his ear and inserted Mario Kart. He waited for the game to start, then pressed the 'up' button for ten seconds, which gave him access to the transmitter. The screen blinked, signifying the thing was ready to send. Alex brought the built in microphone close to his mouth.

"I'm in," he said.

* * *

_Thank you all for reviewing: _

_arrowheadhunter, claireroxx101, Emmy-loo, The smell of blood and sand, darkmoon999, Alo Amicus, Chaos Dragon, Secret Spy Guy, Jack's Sword, dyingimmortal, delly, Anne._


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: So how do you all like the new summary... :)

* * *

**Chapter 10**

* * *

The house was quiet. Alex had heard Jason Carnegie come up the stairs, use the bathroom and then retire to his own bedroom. He had peeked out into the hallway a couple of times, had waited until the lights in the man's bedroom went out and then had given him an hour to properly fall asleep. It was past one AM now. Time to get moving.

He threw back the covers of his messily made bed and placed his bare feet on the rug next to it. He hadn't bothered to take off his shorts, but his shoes were under the bed. He left them there, sneaking around the house would be easier barefoot. Getting up, he hung his Game Boy around his neck, wound the cord of the earphones around his wrist and tiptoed to the door while checking his pockets for the 'candy' Smithers had given him. He closed his eyes and listened. Then he slowly opened the door, which he knew didn't squeak, and stepped out into the hallway.

The house had that quiet, middle-of-the-night-and-everybody's-sleeping feel over it. He looked at the three other doors in the hallway. Jason Carnegie's room, Jennifer's room and the bathroom. The house really wasn't very big.

He moved to the stairs and slowly crept down the steps, avoiding the ones he had noticed cracking on the way up. Once downstairs, he looked around. Living room to his left. Front door straight ahead. To his right, the kitchen and probably another room, maybe a study, if he remembered the size of the kitchen correctly. Next to the stairs, two other doors, a toilet and some storage room, probably. He moved to the other side of the hallway, and, sure enough, there were two doors. He peeked into the kitchen. Except for the slight hum of the refrigerator, all was quiet. He stepped inside.

If somebody were to catch him downstairs, he needed an excuse to be there. He opened the refrigerator, looked inside and rummaged through the contents, feeling every bit the intruder he was. Under normal circumstances, he would never have gone and poke around in a stranger's kitchen in search for food. But obviously these weren't normal circumstances, and he was playing a role. So he would be the type that would do these sort of things.

Besides, he really was hungry.

He settled for a piece of pie on a plate, covered in a thin plastic wrapping. He wiggled it out between all sorts of plastic tupperware containers, seemingly containing leftovers. Then he retrieved a fork from a drawer, removed the plastic wrapping and took the plate with him to the room next door. Indeed a study.

A desk with a desktop computer and a laptop computer, standing next to each other, both turned off. A cupboard, another cupboard with four drawers, a small table with a lamp on it. Several plants, a bit withered, because somebody forgot to water them. A mirror, books on shelves on the wall. And a brand new safe in the wall behind the desk.

His heart started to pound. This was it. He was going to crack a safe, for real this time. He took a deep breath. Concentrate, he thought. The excitement subsided somewhat. The sudden burst of adrenaline made him feel on edge and a bit giddy. Again, everything seemed clearer, more sharply defined. The shadows in the room, the way some of the faint light coming from outside reflected in the mirror, the gleam of the safe's door. Smiling, he rounded the desk and studied the it.

It was indeed the same type he had practised on in Smithers's lab. He should be able to do it. He placed the plate with the pie on the desk and, for good measure, because Smithers had told him to do it, he looked around the desk for any sticky notes containing the safe's code. No such luck. He hadn't really expected it, and, truth be told, that really would have been too easy. He was going to do this, and he was going to do this properly. He took a bite of the pie, and then remembered he should probably notify Craig of what he was doing.

He placed the Game Boy on the desk, put the ear plugs in his ears and pressed the send button again.

"I'm in the study, looking at the safe," he said.

Craig's answer was almost immediate. "Good. Good luck. I can see you through the infrared."

Alex broke the connection, removed the Mario Kart game and inserted the Star Wars game. He pressed the 'A' button for ten seconds to access the non-standard safe cracking program, and watched it start up and display the small graphs on the small screens. Smithers's voice was in his head now, explaining, coaching, telling him how to go about it. First, always, before resorting to more elaborate methods, try to open it, see if it's on day lock only.

Alex shook his head, but tried it anyway. He pulled the door, then moved the dial one digit further and tried again. The safe being on day lock could mean that he needed only one digit, the last one of the code, to open it. No such luck. Jason Carnegie wasn't that stupid.

Next, try the standard access codes. Each safe had an initial code. If Carnegie just hadn't bothered to change it, one of them might work. He stepped back, took another bite of his pie, then stepped close to the safe again and started working his way through the list he had memorized. Again, he didn't expect to be successful, and again he was right.

He sat down in the desk chair and looked at the safe. It was going to release its secret to him one way or the other. He looked at his watch. Close to two o'clock already. The last time he had successfully opened one of Smithers's practise safes, it had taken him over an hour. If he didn't want to be here all night, he'd better get to it.

Turning on the Game Boy again, which he had turned off to save batteries, he put the last piece of pie in his mouth and then pressed the sucker with the microphone against the safe's door, just above the dial. He looked at the screen. Now it was a matter of finding the contact points to determine the numbers of the combination, and then try them all out.

* * *

An hour later, he leaned back and rubbed his eyes. Then he stared at the screens of his Game Boy. He was pretty sure he had three of the six numbers of the combination, a two, a five and an eight, but the other three kept eluding him. He looked at his watch. Three AM. He put his Game Boy on the desk, unplugged his ear phones and walked to the window. He could see the sea, the lights of the town, the beach. In the middle of the town, the bright neon lights of the clubs and discotheques. Down there, people were partying, having a good time. Maybe Brian was there, and Derek, and Sally. Normal teenagers, having normal teenage fun. He frowned and tried to imagine normal, but it eluded him. He could _act_ normal. He would never _be_ normal.

Two. Five. Eight.

His eyes wandered over what could be seen of the town, the dark hills in the distance, the shoreline. Lights of a boat on the horizon. Several dark shapes in the water, yachts and small motor boats, anchored about fifty meters from the beach.

There was something familiar about those numbers.

He turned around and looked at the desk. It was neat and orderly. Papers neatly stacked in one corner, computer wires neatly tied together to keep them from tangling. A stapler and a pen, placed to the side. He stepped closer and carefully opened a drawer. Neat and orderly again. Envelopes, staples, tape. Another drawer revealed a notebook, its pages blank. The bottom drawer contained folders. He quickly leafed through them, but they contained nothing of interest. The purchase contract of the house. Tax papers. All in Spanish. He put them back.

Two, five, eight.

He looked at the shelves, at the books on them. He stepped closer and tilted his head to read the titles. A great number of books on computer science. Some books on space exploration and star systems. Tricks with numbers. He did a double take and stared at the title. Tricks with numbers. It looked old and weathered, the back cracked, as if it had been used a lot. Something started nagging at the back of his brain. Something... about his maths teacher. Something about sequences.

He took the book out and opened it at the contents. And there it was. He started grinning. He put the book back, moved back to the desk and opened the second drawer to retrieve the notebook. He grabbed the pen and quickly wrote down the sequence his maths teacher had told him about less than a month ago.

Zero, one, one, two, three, five, eight. The first seven numbers of the Fibonacci sequence. Each next number is the sum of its two predecessors. And he thought one of the missing numbers might be a one. He looked down at the sequence. If the eight was in it, the zero probably wasn't, so he scratched that one out. He was going for these numbers. If this wasn't it, he was going to have to abort.

Quickly moving back to the safe, he first tried them out in order. Nothing. Then the next combination, reverse order. And with that he hit the jackpot. The door opened. Stunned for a moment, he stared at it. Then he started grinning. He wanted to shout in joy, but of course that would be a bit unwise, so he settled for a quick gesture of triumph. He looked inside.

There wasn't much in there. A white envelope. Two small booklets, passports, Jason's and Jennifer's. A wad of money, euros, fifty euro notes by the looks of it. He took it out. Five thousand euros. On impulse, he grabbed the piece of paper on which he had written the sequence and wrote down the numbers on the first and the last note. They were exactly one hundred apart. He put it back in the safe, stuck his hand in and felt around. Then he took out the envelope and weighed it in his hand. It was sealed shut, and seemed to contain nothing, judging by the weight of it. It was also unmarked.

Why put an empty, unmarked envelope in a safe?

He shook it, then felt it. Puzzled, he was about to put it back, when he noticed a tiny bulge right in the corner. Something small and square. Like a mini SD card. He looked at the envelope and hesitated. Then he quickly stepped back to the desk, opened the drawer with the envelopes and took one out. It was exactly the same.

Reassured that he could at least undo his work, he tore open the envelope and carefully let the tiny memory card slide on his hand. A quick look was all he needed. His Game Boy was equipped to read the most exotic memory types, and a mini SD card was no problem. He stuck it in one of the non standard slots on the side of the small computer game.

The Game Boy – Alex surmised that you really couldn't call it that, it was more like a small portable computer/communicator with which you could also play games – detected the card immediately and showed a list of the contents on the bottom screen. They were files. Hundreds of them. They had no descriptive names, just numbers. He opened the first one.

It was a document, by the title of it describing the security measures for a visit to the middle east by the minister of defence. Date, a month from now. Alex shook his head and opened the next one. This one was short, a list of restaurants, with, at the bottom, a short note that these restaurants were approved for secure meetings. He opened a few others, and they all dealt with security measures for different members of the cabinet and even some schedules as to when they would visit where, the route they would take and so forth.

This seemed like sensitive material. Something Jason Carnegie shouldn't take with him on holiday on an easy to hide mini SD card. He stared at the screen, somehow feeling both excited and disappointed. Excited because he had caught a traitor. Disappointment because Jason Carnegie seemed like a nice, ordinary man with a nice daughter who had no idea what her father was doing, how he got his money. There seemed to be no doubt that Jason was going to sell the information.

He took out the Star Wars game, stuck Mario Kart back in and put the plugs back into his ears. He pressed the 'A' button to start the communicator program and then pressed 'send'.

"Craig?"

Static for a moment. Then, "Yes?"

Alex could hear the tension in the man's voice, the anticipation.

"I've got something. I'm going to send it to you. It's big, though, about a half gigabyte."

"Go ahead. It'll take a few minutes though. Did you place the bugs?"

Alex was already working the controls to send the complete contents of the SD card to Craig, en let out a satisfied grunt when the small orange light started blinking, signifying the Game Boy was sending data.

"Not yet. I wanted to make sure it was needed. We're not going to spy on innocent people."

"Carnegie is hardly innocent. Next time, place the bugs straight away, Alex. I don't like being kept in the dark for so long."

Alex sighed impatiently and started feeling around in his pockets for the bugs. He was interrupted by Craig's voice, sounding alarmed.

"Alex, get out! Somebody's coming down the stairs!"

Alex yanked the ear phones from his ears, and stared at the still blinking light, signifying that the Game Boy was still sending. He couldn't take it out now... Frustrated, he grabbed the new, empty envelope and sealed it shut. Then he shoved it into the safe and closed the door. Soft footsteps in the hallway. He turned the dial once, launched himself at the desk chair while pressing the 'B' button on his Game Boy, which would end all unusual programs and start up a game somewhere in the middle, as if he had been playing it for a while. The orange light kept blinking for a few seconds longer, then stopped.

The door opened. The light switched on, and a bleary eyed Jason Carnegie looked in. His expression turned from surprise to anger.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

* * *

_Thank you all my wonderful reviewers:_

_dyingimmortal, darkmoon999, Anne, Alo Amicus, arrowheadhunter, Sofer, A Bibliophile, Wolfmonster, delly, Chaos Dragon, The smell of blood and sand, Emmy-loo, utemia, bookworm rider_


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

**Chapter 11**

* * *

Alex's head shot up from the game he seemed to be engrossed in. He looked stricken, not so much from the fact that Carnegie had almost caught him cracking his safe, but because he suddenly remembered he had left the piece of paper containing the numbers of the safe's code and the numbers of the money in the safe in plain sight. He didn't look at it though. He looked at Carnegie, who was standing in the doorway, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"I...," he said, "I... couldn't sleep. So I... went downstairs."

"And helped yourself to our last piece of cheesecake, I see."

Alex looked down to the empty plate, silently congratulating himself on his foresight to bring that along as an excuse for being here. It didn't explain him being in the study, but it did explain why he was downstairs in the first place.

"I was hungry," he muttered, "I haven't eaten anything since lunch."

"You could have just asked last night," Jason said, sounding irritated, but not suspicious.

Alex just shrugged and looked down, refusing to meet the man's eyes in an attempt to look contrite. Carnegie stepped closer.

"What's that?"

He pointed at the piece of paper with the numbers. Alex quickly picked it up, folded it and put it in his pocket.

"Cheat codes," he said.

Carnegie's eyes went up to above Alex's head, to the safe behind his back, and for a moment an odd look appeared in his eyes. Alex kept his eyes on the man, as if oblivious. Carnegie shook his head. Seemingly satisfied, he looked down at Alex again.

"You're a cheat all right," he said, "I'm beginning to have my doubts about you, boy. This is my study. It's off limits. Even Jennifer has to ask permission to be in here."

Alex looked down again. "I'm sorry," he said.

Carnegie gestured impatiently. "Go back to your room, get some sleep. And take that plate to the kitchen. Don't go running around the house at night, and especially don't go outside. There's an alarm system there, you'll set it off.

"Yes sir," Alex said. He shut down his game, grabbed the plate and slowly got to his feet. "Um, I'll be going then."

Carnegie stepped aside and allowed Alex to pass. Alex shot him a look in passing, but the man's face was unreadable. He looked down again, wondering if the beating of his heart could be heard from up close. Carnegie, however, seemed to sense nothing unusual. He left the room, put the plate on the kitchen counter and quickly ascended the stairs to his own room. Only there did he allow himself to break down a little.

He threw the Game Boy on his bed, moved to the window and opened it. Taking deep breaths, he looked out into the night. Then he looked at his watch. Almost a quarter to four. Good thing he had slept through the previous day. He felt thoroughly worn out. The adrenaline was slowly leaving his body, making him feel sluggish and slow. Then he remembered he should probably notify Craig that he was all right, so he sat down on his bed, started the communications program on the Game Boy and gave a quick report.

"Good work, Alex," Craig said, "I got the files. Seems like our perfect Mr Carnegie isn't as innocent as everybody likes to believe. Try and catch some sleep, and then I'll pick you up in the morning like the good abusive father I am."

"What time?"

Alex could hear Craig chuckle. He sounded very pleased with himself, and in fact, Alex did feel slightly triumphant too. He had done it. Completely nailed the assignment. And if he didn't become a spy after all, he could consider a career in safe cracking instead.

"Ten-ish," Craig said, "And even that is stretching it a bit. Can't convincingly show up at eight, since I was out drinking last night. I'd like to get you out right now, but I don't think Carnegie would let you go with me if I'm 'drunk'."

Alex could practically hear the man quote that last word with his fingers. "You didn't drink, right?" he asked, to make sure.

"No, Alex, I didn't. I told you. You can trust me to have your back. I'll be gone for a few hours now, have a look at what we've got, contact some people."

"I didn't get to place the bugs."

"Leave them for now. See if you can plant one or two in the morning. I don't suppose you can get back into his study without raising suspicion, so don't take any risks. Despite what you think, we'd like to get you back in one piece."

Sure, Alex thought, you don't want to lose your tool. He didn't say it though. He yawned, rubbed his eyes and looked at his pillow, which looked particularly inviting.

"I still got the SD card. It's in my Game Boy, couldn't get it out in time," he said, "If Carnegie finds out it's gone..."

Craig was silent for a moment. "That is unfortunate," he said, "It would be better if it were back in his safe... on the other hand, if he no longer has it, he can't sell it. The information would be safe. Do you think he'll find out before morning?"

Alex shrugged. "I don't see any reason for him to check his safe now, but if he does, I put in a similar white envelope. He'd have to open it to find it gone..."

"All right. Leave it then. Get some sleep, you've earned it. You will be all right, will you?"

Alex sighed. "Yes, of course. You go. I'm going to bed. I'll see you... in a couple of hours."

He broke the connection, removed the ear plugs and walked over to the window. For a brief moment, he thought he saw movement, somebody coming down the slope, but then it was gone. Craig, returning to his car parked about a kilometre down the road? Or some animal, out hunting maybe. Alex couldn't tell. He turned around. The door opened. Alex froze. Carnegie looked in, looking both incredulous and furious and, more importantly, having a gun in his hand, pointing straight at Alex. His hand, Alex noted dimly, was rock steady.

"You...," Carnegie stammered, "You... I can't believe it. You little thief! You opened my safe! Where is it?!"

Alex's mouth went dry. Carnegie not only had checked his safe, but had also checked the contents of the envelope... how paranoid could you get? Then he realized the man's paranoia was totally justified. He had hoped putting a similar white envelope in the safe would fool him long enough. Obviously, it hadn't. Carnegie stepped closer. Alex moved away from the window to make himself less of a target, outlined in the window. He kept a weary eye on the gun – a Glock, he noted.

"Where is what?" he asked, stalling.

His eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape. Carnegie stepped into the room, leaving the door open. He looked uncertain, slightly panicked even. Alex tensed, feeling the familiar rush again, knowing a fight was coming, was inevitable if he was to get out of there. He just needed an opening, a distraction. Carnegie wasn't the type to just shoot, he wasn't one of his usual opponents, wasn't a ruthless killer or an insane criminal mastermind. Alex could use that.

Then he almost smiled. Somebody was going to help him, even if she didn't know it and was probably sleeping. He took a step forward, bringing himself closer to Carnegie and the gun, tensing up and unobtrusively placing his feet in such a way that he could jump easily.

"Where is what?" he asked again, a little louder.

He took a deep breath, intending to start shouting, but then saw his plan was already working. Carnegie's mouth twitched and he looked over his shoulder, obviously to check his daughter was still sleeping, that she hadn't woken up from Alex's voice. His gun moved too, now pointing at a place on the wall right beside Alex's left shoulder.

Don't think, Alex thought, act. He wouldn't try to kick the gun out of the man's hand – too much of a risk of it going off and hitting something he didn't want to be hit, himself for instance – but instead dove forward, intending to ram his shoulder into the man's stomach. He would have succeeded too, and might even have gotten free that same instant, if he hadn't slipped on the loose rug laying next to the bed.

As soon as he moved, the thing slid away from under his feet, and instead of hitting Carnegie full force, he only managed to bump into him. Carnegie let out a grunt in surprise and staggered backwards against the door frame. Alex recovered quickly, and planted his fist into the man's stomach, hoping it would be enough. He only needed to get past him.

It wasn't.

Craig had gone down from the blow less than eight hours ago, but Craig had been totally unsuspecting. Carnegie, although not having been on active duty for fifteen years, proved he still had the correct instincts. He tensed his abs, and Alex's blow landed not on something soft but on something solid.

Alex knew he was in trouble then. His best asset had always been his age. People didn't expect violence from him, and by the time they recovered from the shock, Alex had usually managed to either get away or bring them down, literally before they knew it. And even if they did expect it, he could hold his own, as long as he had room to move, to dodge, to throw quick kicks and move out of the way again. He didn't here, not in the small room.

He tried anyway, and he managed to move away from Carnegie, partially evading a blow on the head from the gun. He knew then that his gamble, that the man really didn't want to shoot him, that his playing the possibility that the man wasn't used to this, wasn't a total crook, just stupid, was correct. He didn't have long to congratulate himself on that discovery though.

Slightly groggy from the blow on his head, he was slow in the evasion of Carnegie's next move, which was grabbing his hair and yanking his head backwards. Tears sprang into his eyes and he reached up to grab the man's arm while simultaneously kicking the man's shins. Carnegie hissed in pain, but didn't let go. He brought down the gun to hit the boy on his head. Hard.

Alex sagged. He stumbled forward, forced by the hand that was still holding his hair in a firm grip, and fell against Carnegie, clutching his shirt. Carnegie let go. Dazed, but not out of it, Alex seized the opportunity and pushed himself back, aiming a sweeping kick at the man's shins again - which connected beautifully - while falling down next to the bed. It wasn't enough, though. Carnegie groaned in pain, lurched forward and simply let himself fall on top of Alex, driving the wind out of his lungs. Then he brought down the gun again and Alex went limp.

He wasn't unconscious. The world was floating around him and for a moment he forgot who he was, where he was, and what he was doing. He just drifted, staring aimlessly at a leg of his bed. A weight lifted off him, somebody grunted and stumbled about for a while, but it didn't have any meaning to him.

He blinked.

The leg of the bed was gone. The ground he was laying on was no longer hard, it was soft. His face was pressed against something colourful and he stared at it for a while before realizing he was probably looking at his bedspread. He tried to move, but found that he couldn't. Somebody was talking, so he turned his head. Painful. He winced, then stared at the face close to his. The man's mouth moved, and looked in fascination at his slightly crooked teeth. Sounds reached his brain, but the words were garbled so he stopped paying attention to them.

He blinked.

He was being carried. Darkness surrounded him. His head really started to hurt, now that he was hanging upside down... no, hanging over somebody's shoulder. His hands were tied, he realized, as were his feet. And from the careful movement of his carrier, he surmised they were going down some stairs. He sniffed the air. It was cool and moist. Sand. Concrete. The typical smell of a cellar.

A change in the movement alerted him to the fact that they were completely down. Before he had time to think about that, he was swung to the floor. "Ouch," he wanted to say, only to notice his mouth was taped shut. He looked up at his captor, a panting Carnegie.

"I'm sorry," the man said, "But I'm going to have to leave you here. I have some phone calls to make, your father won't rescue you." He crouched down next to him. "Are you awake? Are you listening?"

Alex moved his head a little, trying to look scared. Which wasn't hard at all. He shot Carnegie a pleading look, but it was a little hard to convince the man to release him with his mouth taped shut. Carnegie pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Your father is MI6, right? I should have recognized the gadgets immediately... Your Game Boy. I found my SD card in it, and it seems to have all sorts of non standard options on it. I should know, because Jennifer has one too. A normal Game Boy, I mean. I'm not into that sort of thing any longer..." He shook his head. "I can't believe somebody would use their own son to spy... you even got trained to do this, didn't you. That was way too smooth... And you approached Jennifer... Does your father really hit you?"

He reached out and gently touched Alex's face, the place Alex surmised would now show a sizeable bruise. Alex just looked at him. Carnegie didn't seem to be expecting an answer.

"Does he force you to work for him? What father would do that to his son... I'd never do that to my Jennifer. That's why I left MI5. I wanted to be a normal father... normal."

He laughed bitterly. "Normal," he said again.

He was quiet for a few moments. Then he spoke again.

"Jennifer likes you. A lot. This is going to break her heart. Did you think about that? Do you care? Or are you just like your father?" He sat down on the ground and leaned against the wall. "Do you like spying on people, Alex... if that's your name... is it your name?"

He looked at Alex, who gave him a blank look.

"It doesn't matter. Alex. Your father is probably going to come and get you in the morning. I... we'll be ready for him. I'll tell Jennifer you already left, and I'll send her away. She won't notice. She'll be at the beach. And tomorrow night... I mean, tonight... we'll leave. I'll have to think what I'm going to tell her now. She'll miss her friends, her family... but we can't stay now, can we. All because of you and your father."

The anger was back now. Carnegie glared at Alex, and Alex didn't like the look in his eyes. There was something else there, not just the anger. Desperation. And maybe a twinge of madness. He was obviously under a lot of stress, and he was close to snapping. And when that happened, Alex didn't want to be around. Unfortunately, his movement was greatly limited at the moment.

"You ruined me," Carnegie said.

He clenched his fists. Alex tried to move back. He breathing quickened, and he let out short, panicked breaths through his nose. Carnegie got up and loomed over him, fists still clenched. Then he let out a strangled cry and kicked Alex in the ribs.

"Mmmm!" Alex cried.

Sweat broke out. If the man really lost it here, he was in for a serious beating. But Carnegie stumbled backwards and grabbed his head.

"What am I doing," he muttered, "You're just a kid... just a kid..."

He stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall. He slid down, sat down with a thud and grabbed his head with both his hands.

"It wasn't my fault," he said, "I didn't... I shouldn't have... It wasn't my fault. I had no choice, I was going to stop after this. I only need some time..."

He looked at Alex pleadingly, as if Alex would somehow absolve him. Alex just stared at him, trying to focus his eyes, which seemed rather difficult at the moment. The man's face went all blurry, came back into focus and then blurred again. Alex blinked a few times.

"I'm sorry," Carnegie said, "I really am, Alex. I didn't mean to hit you. You must think... I'm not like him. Your father, I mean. I don't hit..."

He stopped abruptly and got up. His face darkened and Alex cringed, fearing the man would lose it again. Instead, Carnegie closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, he looked calm, collected.

"I am really sorry, Alex," he said. His voice sounded stronger now. "Jennifer is still sleeping, thank God. I'm going to have to leave you here for now. I know this is uncomfortable, but try to get some sleep. You'll be set free once we're gone."

He turned around and rushed up the stairs taking the steps two at a time, leaving Alex downstairs in the dark cellar.

Minutes passed. Alex squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. Total darkness. He sighed through his nose, then tugged his hands for a few moments. They seemed to be taped together, rather than tied up with some rope, which was encouraging. If he could stretch the tape a little, he might be able to wiggle free. He rolled on his stomach and tried to twist his arms, working them in opposing directions, but found that either Carnegie had used some really non-elastic tape, or had just used a lot of it. There was no movement. If only he had his things... but he was only wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and no shoes. He hadn't wanted to snoop around fully clothed, as the ruse with the getting a late night snack wouldn't have worked quite as well.

Not that it had worked particularly well anyway.

He tried again, twisting his arms. This time, his upper arm cramped. He stopped and waited for the feeling to subside. Some more twisting. Nothing moved, his arms stayed firmly taped together. He was breathing heavily now, and since he only had his nose to breathe through, he was starting to feel a little dizzy. That, added to the headache he already had, made him roll on his side again.

He needed to rest a little, but he couldn't sleep. He wanted to though. He had been up the whole night, and he was feeling it. Some sleep would be nice, but since – judging by the way he was feeling nauseous and dizzy the whole time – he was probably concussed, also dangerous. Vaguely, he remembered something about having to be awakened every two hours the last time he had had a concussion, when he fell off his bike about two years ago.

Ian had still been alive then. He and Jack had taken turns in waking him. They had turned on the light, had made him answer some questions to prove he was coherent, and then had left to allow him to go to sleep again, which invariably had taken almost an hour because of the headache. He hadn't gotten much sleep that night.

He smiled at the memory. Ian hadn't said much when his friends had brought him home, all groggy and disoriented, but Jack had more than made up for that. She had lectured him for days on responsible bike riding. He pictured her now, lecturing him about irresponsible spying. First it made him laugh, which was slightly difficult because his mouth was taped shut. Then he got worried, because he was feeling light headed and slightly hysterical.

His cheek scraped against the cold concrete of the floor as he tried to move. He twisted his arms again, but stopped when pain flared inside his head. Too much pressure. He laid still again. This was starting to get really annoying. He had to get loose, had to warn Craig. Then the two of them had to stop Carnegie.

The door opened.

Alex blinked in the sudden light on his face and looked up at the silhouette of the man – Carnegie – in the door. Then something sailed through the air and landed next to him on the ground with a thud. The door closed again, and Alex was left with bright blue balls dancing in front of his eyes. He didn't mind though. He stared into the darkness into the direction of where the thing had landed. In the light he had only caught a glimpse of it, but it had been enough. His backpack. With all his stuff, minus the Game Boy which Carnegie wouldn't be stupid enough to leave in his possession. Obviously, Carnegie wanted Jennifer to think he had already left and had taken his backpack with him.

His stuff.

Plenty of possibilities there. He just needed to get to them. He rolled into the direction he suspected the bag, and was instantly hit with a wave of nausea. He whimpered and pulled up his knees in an attempt to curl into himself, fighting off the sudden urge to throw up. He couldn't throw up now, he was gagged, he'd suffocate. Bile rose in his throat though, and he closed his eyes, trying to take slow and measured breaths.

People never seem to remember that gagging somebody is dangerous. What if they have a cold? What if their nose gets blocked, they can't breathe. Or, what if they're concussed and get sick? They'll choke on their own vomit. Alex laid there for a long time, fighting off the almost overpowering feeling that the last thing he would taste in the world was cheesecake mixed with stomach acid. The world started spinning, tears were running down his face, dripping on the concrete.

At long last, the feeling subsided. He remained perfectly still though, afraid it would come back. He was laying on his right side, and his right arm was starting to go numb. Shifting a little, he tried to get into a more comfortable positions, but that was impossible. Everywhere his body touched the floor, he was starting to hurt. He shifted again and thought about his backpack, no doubt less than a meter away from him.

He really needed to get going, get to his things.

He was tired.

The floor seemed to swirl and twist, and he couldn't keep up. The darkness that surrounded him didn't help, making him lose any sense of direction. If he could just rest, if only for a little while...

* * *

_Thank you for reviewing: _

_Emmy-loo, dyingimmortal, Wolfmonster, A Bibliophile, arrowheadhunter, Chaos Dragon, Anne, darkmoon999, BlackFeatherz29, Jusmine._


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: I'm sorry. The past week has been... busy.

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**Chapter 12**

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"Alex!"

_Nile stared at him. Stared at him as he fell to his death. The look in his eyes burned into his brain. He could see him now, laughing, joking with him at the Scorpia training camp, not really a friend, but a comrade. Nile had belonged. Like Alex had belonged. In his twisted world, everything had made sense then. _

_Nile's dark eyes, burning into his, leaving a permanent mark. That was when it had started._

"Alex, are you all right?"

_He had killed. He had killed before, but he had never looked into their eyes before when they died. It had somehow seemed as if it hadn't really been him. It hadn't had anything to do with him. He had just been there by accident. He had never felt particularly guilty over it._

"Alex, answer me, dammit!"

_Sarov had killed himself. Alex had tried to avert his eyes, but some twisted part of him, some sick fascination had made him look up at the last moment. The man had looked at him. And then he had blown his brains out. Alex had watched as the light in the man's eyes had suddenly been extinguished._

_And in a way, he had caused that too._

_And Ash, poor old misguided treacherous Ash. He was the first person Alex had actively, intentionally tried to kill. Too bad he had missed. Because he still felt a trace of resentment at Ben for doing his job for him._

_His job._

_The stock of the gun against his shoulder. The target in his sight, getting out of the car, looking around, looking up. Alex couldn't see his eyes. It didn't matter. The man died anyway._

"Alex... come on, wake up... you have to wake up, we're going to get out of here... Alex?"

Craig's voice came from far away, echoing in his head, mixing with his thoughts. Slowly, he became aware of the concrete pressing against his cheek. Then the rest of his body started to protest from laying in the same position for too long. His joints ached, his right arm seemed to be numb again and worst of all, his headache was still there. He groaned.

"Alex...?"

He moved his mouth, opened it. Something nagged at his brain, and it took him a few moments to remember what it was that was strange about him opening his mouth. It had been taped shut before. It wasn't now. Somebody – Carnegie? Craig? – had removed the tape. He must have been really out of it not to have noticed that.

"Leavemealone," he muttered.

"Alex, come on, focus."

Focus? "Why?"

His voice needed work. It sounded all wrong. Raspy and croaking. He cleared his throat and coughed, which immediately caused another painful jolt through his head.

"Come on, Alex, work with me here. Open your eyes, boy, show some spine. Don't go laying about waiting for somebody to rescue you as if you're some damsel in distress."

Nobody talked to him like that. He opened his eyes to glare at Craig, and found that he could. Light shone in through a very dirty and very small window close to the ceiling. Being in the dark for so long, it seemed very bright. Craig was sitting beneath it, his back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, taped together. Alex couldn't see his arms, as they were behind his back.

"What are you doing here," he growled, "Carnegie wave his little pop gun at you and you let yourself be tied up too?"

Craig barked out a short laugh. "Something like that," he said bitterly, "Only he had help. He called his friends, I guess they're his contacts here in Spain. There were two of them."

"So you let them tie you up."

"I didn't... don't try to rile me, Alex." Craig looked at him intently. "How are you doing?"

Alex closed his eyes. "Not too good."

"Alex, open your eyes, stay with me!"

"M'not sleeping."

"Open. Your. Eyes."

Alex sighed and then, just to stop the man from nagging, opened his eyes again.

"Good." Craig shifted a little. "Carnegie dumped your backpack in here. Is there anything useful in there?"

Alex grimaced, remembering how he had tried to get to his backpack in the dark, the nausea, the terrifying prospect of choking on his own vomit... which reminded him.

"Why is my mouth no longer taped? I would think Carnegie wouldn't want anybody to hear us if we tried to shout for help."

Craig tried to move a little and winced. His shoulders slumped and he sighed.

"I convinced him to remove the tape. Told him you might suffocate. Or choke on your own vomit or something. His friends didn't seem too concerned about that, but he was, so he took it off. Said there wasn't anybody around to hear us anyway."

A soft thump coming from somewhere in the house made them both look up. When it didn't happen again, Alex and Craig looked at each other. Craig shrugged.

"Must be packing," he said, "Jennifer wasn't there this morning. So I guess he's right, there really is nobody around to hear us. Which is why we have to help ourselves. Now how about your backpack, what's in it?"

Alex turned his head and tried to see. It was just laying there. One zip wasn't completely closed, and he saw part of a shoe stick out.

"My shoes," he said, "He put them in there. Smithers gave me those tungsten shoelaces."

"I was thinking of something more useful. You can't use those to saw through that stupid tape."

Alex shuffled closer to the bag, until his face almost touched it. He looked at his shoe. Craig was right, there was no way he could use those laces with his hands tied together. But he did have something else. Getting to it was a problem, though.

"I have a knife disguised as a Chelsea Supporters Club membership card," he said, "But it's in my wallet... if it's still in there, it's somewhere at the bottom."

"Can you get to it?"

Alex twisted his head and looked at Craig, still sitting in the exact same spot. Now that he looked closer, he could see a drainpipe rising behind Craig's back. He was probably tied to the pipe, that was why he couldn't move. He turned his attention back to the backpack, trying to ignore the painful stabs in his head when he moved.

First, he needed to open it. Easier said than done. He rolled back and forth a few times, pushed himself with his legs to position himself with his back to his bag, allowing his hands to touch it where he hoped the zip was. After feeling around for a few minutes, not helped at all by Craig's comments on how to move, he managed to get a hold of it.

He paused and leaned his head on the floor. The exertion of moving around like that had exhausted him. The cellar was spinning, and he couldn't seem to focus. He closed his eyes.

"Alex..."

He grimaced when he heard Craig's voice, no doubt about to tell him to stay awake. He was tired of listening to the man, always manipulating him into doing what he wanted him to do.

"Don't fall asleep on me Alex, now. Come on, you can do it. Open it up. It's easy. It's not even completely closed. Come on, Alex, no slacking now."

Alex growled in frustration and began pulling at the zip. It moved a little, got stuck, moved again. He started sweating. The zip only came in short bursts, and he had to strain his arms in a very awkward position go get it moving at all. His muscles started to ache, and he stopped again.

"Don't... start," he brought out between gasps, sensing Craig was about to start trying to encourage him again, "I just need to rest."

Thankfully, Craig remained silent. Alex leaned his head against the floor once more, waiting for his breathing to return to normal, or at least not sound like he was an old smoker with asthma. He wanted to close his eyes, but was afraid to fall asleep right there, so he stared at the semi-bright rectangle on the floor, caused by the sun shining through the window.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"No idea," Craig said, "They took away my watch, probably afraid it was some sort of gadget. Not that it'd help, I can't look at it like this anyway. I arrived here at ten fifteen, they brought me down here, and it took me about an hour or so to wake you. I'd say around noon."

Alex turned his head to look at his fake father. "Was it?"

Craig raised his eyebrows. "Was what?"

"A gadget. Your watch. Was it a gadget."

Craig smirked at him. "Classified," he said smugly. Then, sobering up, "Yes. I could have used it to send out a distress signal. Spanish secret service would have been here within the hour, which would have been embarrassing, but at least we'd get out of here. Carnegie knows what he's doing."

"Wonderful," Alex muttered.

He groped around until he found the zip again and started pulling. It moved a few centimetres, then got stuck again. Muttering several obscenities, Alex yanked it, hard. The zip came loose, and the backpack opened all the way.

"If I were your real father, I'd probably have to tell you to wash your mouth," Craig said lightly.

"Shut up. Don't even mention the possibility," Alex said angrily, "You're nothing like any father ever. I'm not listening to you any more."

"Hey," Craig said, "I don't care. Whatever works for you, kid."

"Don't call me 'kid' either."

He leaned his head against the floor again, trying to dispel the feeling that his arms, painfully twisted behind his back, would cramp. He didn't even dare to move his fingers for fear it might have his muscle spasm uncontrollably. He moved his head a little to look at Craig again, who was just about to open his mouth to no doubt ask Alex what he was waiting for.

"Shut up," Alex said, "It hurts."

Craig closed his mouth and grimaced. "I know," he said.

A minute passed in complete silence. Alex's fingers started tingling. He blinked a few times and sighed deeply. His mind was fuzzy, and for some reason he felt the almost overwhelming need to just close his eyes and let himself drift...

_Darkness tried to swallow him, deep, deep darkness with small pinpricks of light, bright pinpricks, stars, glittering like... eyes. Eyes, staring at him accusingly, glaring at him, mocking him, blue, brown, green, breaking, dying, turning into something glassy and useless because the brain behind them no longer functioned..._

Alex's eyes shot open. "Talk to me," he said hoarsely, "I'm... tired."

Craig moved his legs a little. "You have to stay awake, Alex," he said, "Sleeping is dangerous now. Not just because we have to get out of here, but I think you may have a concussion. What happened, Carnegie hit you? How did he find out?"

"He checked the safe. Found the SD card missing. I tried to escape but I tripped, he hit me on the head hard enough to knock me out. End of story. What about you?"

Craig shrugged. "I already told you. They were waiting for me. Carnegie let me in, then the three of them pulled their guns on me. I'd have tried to get it away from Carnegie, but the other two..."

He stopped and stared ahead, past Alex, at the opposing wall. He was quiet for a while. Alex tentatively moved his arms, started to reach for the backpack, but froze when he felt a painful spasm go through his right arm. Biting back a groan, he laid still again.

"Tell me about Selma," he said.

Craig's head shot up and he looked at Alex. His face, which up until then had had a somewhat amused expression on it, went blank. He stared at Alex, who stared right back at him. Slowly, Craig shook his head and looked down at the floor.

"I guess it doesn't matter now..." he said, "We got married two years ago. Blunt doesn't know. I think he doesn't know. Three weeks ago she was on an assignment without me, which wasn't unusual. And she didn't come back. I don't know what happened."

"And you just let it go? Didn't you try to find out what happened to her?" Alex asked.

"Sure I did, of course I did!" Craig glared at Alex, "But it's not like MI6 is that forthcoming. I could ask where she was, as I worked with her from time to time, but they flat out refused to tell me anything. And it's not like... I can't push too hard, they'd think it strange if I was too insistent. We all know the risk of what we're doing. Agents sometimes disappear. It happens. If they found out..."

"What?" Alex asked, "What would they do? Fire you?"

Craig's eyes darkened. "Probably," he said, "They frown upon these sort of things. It's... unprofessional."

Alex shook his head. "I'd love for them to fire me," he said morosely, "Why don't you just let them?"

Craig remained silent, and for a while Alex thought the man was done talking. The silence in the cellar became oppressive. Then suddenly Craig spoke again.

"It's all I have," he said, "And besides, I can't go look for Selma if I no longer have access to the MI6 databases. And they won't just fire me... they'll discredit me, disown me. Nobody will help me, nobody will want to even be seen with me. And I can't do it alone."

He shook his head, as if dismissing the subject. His face remained impassive as he studied Alex.

"How's the arms?" he asked.

Alex moved, wiggled his fingers, tentatively moved his arms. A painful jolt in his left arm brought tears to his eyes, but it subsided. He struggled a little and moved closer to the backpack again, feeling awkwardly for the opening he had created earlier. When he found it, he started pulling things out of his backpack, his shoes, a clean t-shirt – he'd love to put it on right then and there, as the one he was wearing was drenched in his sweat and he probably didn't smell too good – and then some clean undergarments. All his electronics were gone, his cell phone, his i-pod and even his photo camera. Carnegie obviously didn't trust any of it. He wallet was still there though, and he let out a sigh in relief. It took only a moment to flip it open and retrieve the membership card.

"Got it," he said.

He moved the card between his fingers, carefully testing the edges. With his fingers being slightly numb from the tape around his wrists, it was no wonder he managed to cut himself before figuring out what the sharp edge of it was. He flipped it around in his hands and started to cut into the tape.

"Stop," Craig said, "Move away. Somebody's coming."

* * *

_Thank you for reviewing:_

_Alo Amicus, dyingimmortal, The smell of blood and sand, Sofer, Chaos Dragon, Ferrelyn, A Bibliophile, arrowheadhunter, Jusmine, Emmy-loo, Secret Spy Guy_


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: This one is really short again... I didn't realize that when I divided this story into chapters. I'll try and get the next chapter done asap.

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**Chapter 13**

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Alex dropped the card and rolled on top of it. He leaned his head on the floor again, trying to look as if he hadn't been exerting himself and trying to twist his hands into an almost impossible angle to be able to cut through the tape. He hadn't made much progress yet, but he still hoped that whoever came down the stairs wouldn't check his bonds.

The door opened, allowing in some light from the hallway. Alex squinted at the silhouettes in the doorway. Two people were standing there, looking in, one tall man, probably Jason Carnegie, and another, smaller one, slender frame, short hair. Jennifer. She looked up at her father, and then tentatively came down the stairs, one hand gripping the railing tightly. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she stopped. First, she looked at Craig, still seated at the other end of the cellar, and then at Alex, laying on the floor amidst the things he had pulled out of his backpack. He looked back at her, trying to look as pitiful as possible.

"Oh my God, you look terrible," Jennifer said.

She quickly rushed up to him, crouched down and felt his forehead. "You're not sick," she said, "Why are you sweating?" She looked at the open backpack. "What were you doing? Were you trying to escape?"

"What do you think," Craig said angrily, "A couple of maniacs including your darling father put us in here and we're just going to sit here?"

Jennifer rummaged through the scattered contents of the backpack, and then proceeded to put it all back. She stuffed Alex's shoes in last and pulled at the zip until the bag was completely closed. Then she walked to the stairs and placed it at the bottom, before returning to Alex. She sat down on her knees and folded her hands in her lap.

"I was trying to get to my cell phone," Alex said, "But your father took it."

Jennifer winced and looked up the stairs, where Carnegie still stood, his arms crossed. Then she turned back to Alex.

"I'm so sorry about this," she said, "Did your father put you up to it? My father says so... I guess it must be true. Why else would you..." She swallowed. "You don't really like me, do you."

Alex just looked at her, blinking tiredly.

"I didn't think so," she muttered, looking down at her hands, "It was too good to be true anyway... good looking boy falling for me instead of Sally..."

Her voice trailed away and Alex didn't know what to say. Did she know about her father's treachery? What had he told her? Could he convince her to untie him? Before he could say anything, however, she looked up and started speaking again.

"I should hate you, but I don't," she said. She shot Craig an angry look. "I understand that he made you do it. I just wish... we have to leave now, you know. Leave, hide, so my father can clear things up again..."

"Clear what up," Alex asked.

Jennifer frowned at him. "You were trying to frame him, leave evidence that he was a traitor. My father says he can prove he's innocent, but we need to disappear now. All because of you."

"Is that what he told you?" Alex asked, "That I was trying to frame him? Why on earth would I do that?"

Jennifer shook her head and looked up at her father. "I don't know. MI6 has always been on my father's case. And now that he got lucky in the casino that one time, they think he must be taking money, that he was bribed."

"Get real," Craig said, sounding annoyed, "Your father is a pathological gambler who couldn't pay his debts, and then suddenly he gets lucky that one time and gives up gambling? That's not how it works, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that," Jennifer said, glaring at Craig, "I hate you. I hate what you've done to Alex. You're a manipulative bastard. I hate it that we have to leave now, I have to leave everything behind, my friends, my school, my family..."

"Where are you going?" Alex asked. He had a hard time looking up at her. Her face kept blurring.

Jennifer shrugged. "I don't know. We leave tonight at ten, by boat."

Movement on top of the stairs. A warning voice. "Jennifer..."

She looked up. "We're going to call the police tonight, aren't we, dad, and we'll be long gone. It doesn't matter what I tell them."

Alex shook his head and groaned when the movement caused another painful stab in his head.

"Please," he said, "You don't want to do this. Please untie us. If it is really true what your father is saying, then he'd be better off not running." That wasn't true, and Alex knew it. He was convinced that if MI6 wanted somebody framed, then nobody would believe his innocence.

"Please untie me," he pleaded, looking up at her with wide eyes, "I'm not feeling well."

Jennifer stayed quiet for a moment, avoiding his eyes. Again, she looked up at the figure of her father, standing motionless in the doorway once more.

"I'm sorry," she said, "Tonight, when we're gone, you'll be freed. You're just have to wait a little while longer."

"Alex can't wait," Craig said from his spot, "He needs a hospital. He has a concussion."

Alex closed his eyes and tried to look even more pitiful. He heard Jennifer shift next to him.

"Dad," she said hesitantly, "He really does look awful..."

"He can hold on till tonight," came Carnegie's voice from upstairs, "Now say goodbye. You promised to keep it short."

Alex opened his eyes again. Jennifer looked about to cry.

"You'll be all right," she said, "I promise. Tonight. We'll call the police tonight and then they will get you to a hospital. Good... goodbye, Alex."

She got up, walked to the stairs and started to ascend.

"Jennifer," Alex said.

She stopped, but didn't turn around. I'm sorry, he wanted to say, I'm sorry for deceiving you, I really do like you, just not the way you want me to. I'm sorry for uprooting your life like this...

"Good luck," he said.

She continued up, and once she passed through, Carnegie closed the door. Alex heard them move around the house for a while, then all went quiet. He looked up at Craig.

"Do you really think they'll call the police when they're gone?" he asked.

Craig tried to shrug, and then winced. "I'm sure that's their intention," he said, "But I'm also sure that the people they're dealing with don't like leaving loose ends."

Alex nodded vaguely, having suspected as much. He rolled off of his disguised knife and moved around for a bit until he found it again. Positioning it in such a way that he could cut the tape around his wrists took a couple of minutes, after which he had to rest again.

Maybe Craig was right. Maybe he really did need a hospital. The way the cellar kept spinning whenever he exerted himself only a little bit, that couldn't be good. If only he could get some sleep...

Putting all thoughts about sleep and rest away, he started to cut.

* * *

_Thank you:_

_Wolfmonster, Midnight-Shadow18450, Emmy-loo, Sofer, Chaos Dragon, Ponyboy65, arrowheadhunter, bookworm rider, Alo Amicus, A Bibliophile, Jusmine,_

_for reviewing. _


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Haven't replied to all the reviews yet, but I thought you might like the next chapter first...:)

* * *

**Chapter 14**

* * *

For the umpteenth time, Alex tensed the muscles in his arms, trying to snap what was left of the tape. Then he relaxed again, breathing deeply. He was still holding the card-knife in his slippery fingers. It had gotten increasingly difficult to cut through the tape, so his progress had been excruciatingly slow. He was able to move his hands more freely now, but it seemed Carnegie had used about half a roll of tape on his arms. He wasn't there yet.

Resting his arms, he surveyed the cellar once more. He now knew its contents by heart, the cardboard boxes in the corner, the rack with old cans of paint, a rusty old bike without a chain and some old garden furniture. None of it was of any use to him. He studied it anyway, so he wouldn't have to look at Craig.

Silence in the cellar. They hadn't heard a sound coming from the house for a while now, and Alex wondered if Jennifer and her father had left. If they hadn't, they were being awfully quiet.

"Alex?"

Alex closed his eyes in annoyance. Every time he had stopped, at some point, Craig would start talking to him. Didn't the man know just how much effort this cost? How difficult it was to cut through tape when said tape was around your wrist, severely limiting your movement and cutting of your bloodstream? He had cut himself twice, because he hadn't known he was no longer trying to cut through the tape but instead cutting into his wrist. He was going to have a hell of a lot explaining to do to his classmates if that was still visible when the holidays were over.

"Just shut up, Craig," he said.

"Just don't want you falling asleep again," Craig said.

Alex turned his head and glared at him. He had a point though. After about an hour of trying to cut through his bonds, hardly making any progress at all, Alex had put his head down on the floor and had simply drifted off into a dreamless sleep, ignoring Craig's increasingly insistent calling his name. He had woken up hours later, not exactly feeling refreshed, but feeling slightly better nonetheless. His headache had subsided to a mild throb, and he felt stronger and less prone to throw up suddenly. It would have been worth it if he hadn't been in such a precarious situation. Craig had chided him.

"You can rest as much as you want _after_ we get out of this, Alex, now cut through the damn tape so we can get out of here. We're not on holiday here."

"Don't remind me," Alex had grumbled, before he had gotten back to the tedious work of cutting the tape and not himself.

And now he had cut as far as he could twist his arms. For the rest of it, he'd have to rely on his strength. Still, he tried once more to reach the tape with the card-knife, but it was no use. He let go of it, glad to be rid of it. It had seemed such a nice little tool before and he _was_ glad he had the thing in his wallet, but if he never would have to hold the thing again, he wouldn't be sorry at all. His fingers cramped and bloody from the inadvertent cuts in his wrists, the muscle in his arm aching from the unusual strain, he was ready to fling the thing across the cellar. Of course, that would be unwise. If he did need it again, he would have to retrieve it. Not to mention he wouldn't be able to throw very well with his hands tied behind his back.

Now only if he could get himself loose...

The door suddenly opened, and light from the hallway poured in. With a start, Alex noticed that the light coming from the window had greatly diminished. It was getting dark out already? Surely he hadn't been in there that long...?

"Alex..."

Jennifer's voice, hesitant.

"Yes?" he asked.

He looked at her silhouette in the doorway. She looked over her shoulder, and then quickly started to descend. Alex quickly rolled on his back, hoping she wouldn't check the tape. She hadn't before. All his hard work would be for nothing if she found out he was almost loose.

When she reached him, she knelt down, carefully put her hand under his head and lifted it up a little. He blinked in surprise, until he saw what it was she was holding in her other hand. A glass of water. He opened his mouth and awkwardly managed to gulp some water from the glass.

"I'm not supposed to go down," she whispered, looking up at the still open door, "We're leaving soon. My father said you were dangerous... you aren't really, are you?"

Alex laughed bitterly and lowered his head to the floor once more. If only she knew.

"I'm tied up," he said reproachfully, "I'm hardly a threat."

"I know..." she said. She hesitated, shot Craig, who was looking at them with an amused expression on his face, a dirty look, and then bent down and quickly brushed his lips with her own.

"I really wish things were different," she whispered.

She got up. Alex looked at her. She had her back to Craig, so she couldn't see the man's expression on his face, but Alex could. He was scowling at Alex, and jerking his head, in an attempt to tell him something. Alex had a pretty good idea what that was.

"Jennifer..." he said, "I really am sorry. I didn't mean... I never wanted to hurt you."

Well, at least that was true, he thought.

She looked at him, showing both naïve hope and mistrust on her face. Alex pressed on.

"Please don't do this to me," he pleaded, "Come on, Jennifer, untie me. I don't want...." He swallowed. "I don't want you to leave."

She looked down on him, her face strangely impassive all of a sudden.

"Are you going to tell me you love me after all?" she said coolly.

He closed his eyes, feeling dirtier by the minute. "I thought there was something there," he muttered, "I've never... met someone like you before."

"My father said you might say this," she said, "He said, if he starts telling you he loves you, watch out. Don't fall for it. He will be trying to deceive you... and I thought he was wrong."

She took a step backwards, and then looked at Craig again, whose face was once more expressionless. Then, without a word, she turned around and rushed up the stairs. The door was slammed with a loud thud.

"Well," Craig said, "Not much left of the famous Rider charm, is there."

Alex responded with a growl. Then he laid still again, listening to the sounds coming from upstairs. A door, closing. A loud thump. Rushed footsteps, then another door closing. Silence. They waited.

"I think they've gone," Craig said after several minutes, "Now would be a good time to get through those bonds, Alex."

"What did I just do?" Alex asked, shaking his head, "I tried to play her again, let her think that I..."

"Would. You. Stop. That!"

Alex head jerked up from Craig's sudden outburst. "You're being insufferable. Stop complaining and do your job!"

A sound of a heavy door closing had then both look up.

"I thought they'd left," Alex whispered, "Jennifer said so. Who..."

"Clean up," Craig said grimly, listening intently.

Heavy footsteps, a soft thump, a clatter as if somebody dropped a plate. Laughter.

"Now would be a good time, Alex," Craig said calmly.

Alex, however, didn't need to be told. He tugged at the tape that now only held his lower arms together. His wrists were free, and he twisted and struggled, panting from the exertion. More heavy footsteps, coming closer. Whoever they were, they were in the hallway now. He tugged again. Something came loose, but not completely. He could move is arms a little more now though. A key in the lock. A voice, male, saying something in Spanish, words too muffled by the closed door to quite hear what he was saying.

Alex twisted his arms again. Somebody was making sounds, small, whimpering sounds, and it took him a moment to realize that it was him. He stopped. The door opened.

One last tug. The tape tore free, taking part of his skin with it. His left arm shot forward, shooting a painful jolt through his shoulder from having been bent backwards for too long. He was free. But his legs were still taped together.

Somebody peered down into the dark cellar. Alex could only just make out that it was a man, holding a gun which at the moment pointed down at the floor. He obviously didn't expect any trouble. The man couldn't see him, Alex realized, as he was just outside the bright rectangle the light coming from the hallway was making on the floor. The man raised his hand and started feeling the wall next to the door, obviously trying to find a light switch. Alex scooted backwards, out of sight from the man standing in the doorway. His back hit the rack with the cans of paint.

What to do? In a few moments, the man come down and see him anyway. There was no time to cut the tape from his legs, no time to cut Craig loose, he'd have to do something right now. He looked up. The man found the light switch and flipped it on, and then slowly started to descend, holding the railing with one hand like Jennifer had done. Alex could see his legs, then his hands, the ominous black shape of the gun.

Alex grabbed the rack and pulled himself up. His position was precarious and awkward, as he couldn't move his legs. The man's head came into view. He reached, grabbed one of the cans of paint and weighed it briefly before throwing it hard at the man coming down the stairs.

The man – a stocky built short guy with a bald head, wearing a black leather jacket – caught sight of Alex at that moment. Too late though. He had just enough time to widen his eyes at the heavy can of paint coming his way when it hit him square on the forehead. Alex had always had good aim.

His head bobbed backwards and his knees buckled. Then he fell forward, dropping his gun in the process, and rolled down the stairs. The gun clattered down the stairs and came to rest on the bottom step. Alex winced at the noise he was making as he hit the boxes stored right next to the bottom of the stairs. He stared at the man, laying on the floor, stunned. He was moving his hands, groping aimlessly around.

"Nice shot," Craig called out, "Get the gun!"

Footsteps from above. A voice, calling out. "Enrique? Que pasa?"

Alex grabbed another can of paint and let himself drop on his knees. Then he quickly crawled to the man on the floor, who was just about to push himself up with one hand, his other hand pressed against his head. Alex could see blood seeping through his fingers.

"Oh, no you don't," Alex said.

He swung his arm and landed the can he was holding on the man's head, full force. The man went down without a sound. Alex hoped he hadn't killed him, but he had no time to worry about that. He rolled over the man to get to the stairs, grabbed the gun – another Glock, same type as Carnegie had, he noted – and aimed it at the figure appearing in the door frame.

It was the easiest shot in the world. Alex, on the floor on his back, at the bottom of the stairs. The man upstairs, clearly outlined in the door frame, stupidly looking down at his comrade, laying there between the overthrown pile of boxes. He pulled the trigger.

The noise of the shot was extremely loud in the confinement of the cellar. Ears ringing, Alex lowered the gun. Then he slowly placed it back on the bottom step of the stairs and worked himself into a sitting position, back against the wall. His arms were shaking, his whole body was shaking. He couldn't allow himself to relax, though, not yet. He looked up at Craig, who was looking at him, eyes unreadable.

"Did you get him?" he asked.

"He's dead," Alex said.

His eyes roamed the cellar, until he caught sight of the small but effective Chelsea Fan Club membership card, which he had abandoned a few moments ago. Only a few moments ago. He stared at the card. Less than a twenty seconds had passed, and he had killed one, possibly two men. He looked at the man on the floor, only a meter away from him. He didn't move, Alex couldn't see if he was breathing. Then he looked up at the door. He could only see the man's feet, sticking out into the cellar. The impact of the bullet had made him fall backwards.

"Come on, Alex, let's get out of here," Craig said.

His voice sounded placating. Alex narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he looked at him, but as always couldn't figure what it was about the man that set him on edge. He worked himself on his hands and knees and crawled towards the card-knife. Cutting through the tape around his ankles only took a moment. Then he walked to Craig, all the while listening for sounds in the house that would indicate that there was somebody else there. But, he figured, if somebody else was there, they certainly wouldn't show themselves now that the guy he had shot was laying in the doorway upstairs. They would just wait for him to come out.

Cutting through the rope tying Craig to the drain pipe took a bit longer than cutting through the tape around his legs, but at long last Craig was free too, rubbing his wrists with a pained look on his face. His hands, Alex saw, were swollen, and he had trouble standing up. He didn't waste time though, as soon as he was more or less stable, he set off to the stairs.

"Wait," Alex whispered, "What if there's another one?"

Craig stopped and half turned. "I don't think so, he'd have tried something already. These guys are morons. Besides, it's not even a two-man job, let alone a three-man job. But you're right. Let's be careful."

He picked up the gun Alex had left on the stairs and slowly started to ascend, keeping his feet to the side of the wooden steps for the least likely chance they would crack. Halfway up, he looked down at Alex and motioned him to wait. Alex complied, gladly. He was in no hurry to see the man he had killed.

At the top of the stairs, Craig stopped. He seemed to think for a moment, and then bent over and pulled off the dead man's shoe. He listened for a moment, and then threw the shoe into the hallway, where it bounced against the wall and fell on the floor with a thump. Anybody up there waiting, nervous and tense, would probably react to it. All remained quiet though. Craig crawled further and stuck his head around the bottom of the door frame for a quick look. Then he looked down at Alex again, raised his eyebrows and rushed up the last steps, jumped into the hallway and quickly turned to check the door openings. Then he disappeared.

Alex looked down at the man who had fallen down the stairs, Enrique. He really was quite still. He was still debating himself whether he should take a look and see if he was alive, when Craig returned.

"All clear," he said, "You can come up now, Alex."

Alex quietly turned around and slowly walked up the stairs, picking up his backpack on the way. Once upstairs, he looked down again.

"What about him?" he asked.

Craig shrugged. "What about him. We leave them. Here." He pushed something cold and familiar into Alex's hands. "Take this one. Excellent shot, by the way."

Alex closed his hand around the gun and gripped it tightly, pointing it securely at the ground. Only then did he look down at the man laying in the hallway. He was on his back, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling with a surprised look on his face. Right in the middle of his forehead, a small red hole. He averted his eyes.

"Put on your shoes," Craig said, impatiently pointing at Alex's backpack, "We don't have a whole lot of time. It's already getting dark, which means it has to be close to ten already."

Jennifer and her father were leaving by boat at ten. They'd never catch them... Alex pulled out his shoes from the bag and quickly slipped them onto his bare feet, hopping after Craig, who was already running out the front door.

"Where to?" he gasped, trying to catch up with him.

He finally succeeded at when Craig was stopped by the iron gate. He tugged at it and then examined the lock.

"Damn it," he said, "We'll have to go over..."

"No, wait," Alex said.

He turned around and followed the wall to the small side entrance with the code lock. Quickly, he punched in the numbers Jennifer had so helpfully recited to him two nights ago. The lock sprung open and he pushed. Craig looked impressed.

"Nice work," he said.

Both of them rushed out and made their way to the road. Craig stopped and looked around.

"They took my car," he said, "We'll have to walk." He turned to Alex. "They were going on a boat. Do you have any idea where that might be? Something the girl said, maybe?"

Alex leaned against the wall. He felt better now, but his head was still aching. He looked back at the house. It had seemed like such a nice house before, friendly, welcoming. Now, it looked ominous, dead. He was looking at it with different eyes now, knowing that blood had flowed inside of it. Blood in the house. Blood on his hands. He blinked.

"Alex, snap out of it. Did she say anything, anything at all?"

Alex tore his eyes away from the house. "You heard everything she said," he snapped, "It could be anywhere. There's thousands of boats moored off the coast. Or maybe they're going to Barcelona."

Craig shook his head. "Carlos's yacht is moored about a kilometre out the coast, due east of Calella. It has to be here." He rubbed his tired eyes with both his hands, and then brought his hands to the back of his head and stared at the sea.

"We'll just have to guess, then. Can't call for backup, I have no phone, and the phone in the house is dead. Let's go down to the beach and try to find them." He turned to Alex and looked at him intently. "You up for a short run?"

Alex nodded and winced at the movement. Craig stepped closer, grabbed his head with both hands and stared into his eyes. "Head still hurt?"

Alex shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"It does. But I'm afraid we can't worry about it now. Let's go."

He tucked the gun in his belt in the small of his back and pulled his t-shirt over it to hide it. Alex did the same. He knew he shouldn't really do that, but he didn't have much option. He couldn't very well run around Calella holding a gun. People frowned on that, to put it mildly. He'd be arrested before he got twenty metres into town.

Craig started a slow jog and Alex followed him. It was all downhill, fortunately. He'd rather be laying down somewhere than run, but there was also something comforting in it. He had to concentrate on where to place his feet, had to concentrate on staying upright. It didn't leave him much time to dwell on what had happened in the house.

He had vowed he would never kill again. Looking back on that vow now, he realized how empty it had been. It had only been a matter of time.

* * *

_Thanks so much for reviewing the last chapter, even if it was short:_

_Ponyboy65, arrowheadhunter, darkmoon999, Wolfmonster, Alo Amicus, Secret Spy Guy, delly, bookworm rider, Chaos Dragon, SakuraCa, Sofer_

_There's only one real chapter left, which I haven't quite finished yet, and I need to write the epilogue. Next update may take a while... besides, I think I deserve a break, my eyes are getting kind of cross-eyed from staring at the screen for so long :)  
_


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: I fixed a minor plot hole in the previous chapter, you don't have to go back because it doesn't change the story. I just figured it'd be unlikely those two thugs wouldn't have a car, so I made it so that it was impossible for Alex and Craig to use it.

On with it. And start sharpening those pitchforks.

* * *

**Chapter 15**

* * *

Less than ten minutes later, they reached the roundabout at the edge of town. To the right, the beach. Straight, the town's centre filled with souvenir shops, snack bars and small restaurants, their lights beckoning merrily and inviting, depicting normal life. To the left, up into the hills, deep, deep darkness, into the woods. Craig stopped and Alex almost bumped into him, fixed as he had been on Craig's back. Craig turned to Alex.

"The beach is our best shot," he said, "Come on. We'll cross the railway track right there, and then I'll go left and you go right. Stop them at all cost, Alex."

He was about to start running again, when Alex grabbed his arm.

"Why," he asked, "We now know he has the information. It was all schedules, meetings, of members of parliament and ministers. They can change all that, can't they?"

Craig shook his head. "Not just that. Also addresses of high ranking police officers. Names of people working for MI5 and MI6. Information about the security measures at Buckingham Palace..." He hesitated for a moment, then, "He worked for the ministry of defence. I saw some files regarding new weapons systems... that may be what they were after, but I'm not sure, because I don't really know what I'm looking at. In any case, they can't have it, Alex."

Craig tried to remove his arm from Alex's grip, but he wouldn't let go just yet. He frowned, struggling to keep his mind working. "What about what Jennifer said...," he asked, "We're not setting them up, are we?"

Craig stopped his impatient tugging to get moving again and glared at Alex. "Don't let these people get to you, Alex. Jason Carnegie, however nice he may seem to you, is a crook and a traitor, and if his daughter chooses to believe him over us, then that's her choice. He gambled all his money away, and then proceeded to sell state secrets to keep up his habit. Stop feeling sorry for him."

Alex released his grip. Craig looked up at the church clock tower in the distance. "Ten to ten," he said, shaking his head, "No time left. We have to at least try." He glanced down the road leading to the beach. "Come on, Alex."

He took off in a slightly faster pace, and Alex found he now had trouble keeping up. Normally, he wouldn't have, but his aching head and the occasional dizzy spells made him feel slow and sluggish. Either way, he thought, in ten minutes it would be all over. If they didn't find father and daughter Carnegie – and chances were, they wouldn't – they'd just have to call for backup and let the 'big guys' handle it, as Craig had put it. It didn't feel satisfactory though. He pressed on.

The beach was quiet. There were still a few people there, but most of them were just walking along the almost non-existent surf or sitting quietly in the sand, staring at the sea. Far off to his left, Alex could see the shine of the neon lights of the clubs and discotheques. A bit further down the beach, some sort of party was going on, with colourful, flashing lights and loud music, of which he could only hear the beat from this distance. Briefly, he wondered if Brian and Derek would be there, with a laughing Tory and a flirting Sally. They had had fun together, honest, normal teenage fun, the way it was supposed to. He'd never see them again.

Craig didn't stop, but started to jog north. Alex turned south, knowing he had the short end of the beach. Still, his route would take him right under the steep slope of the hill where Jennifer's house was, right past their hangout by the rocks. He suspected Craig was headed for the parking space further down the beach, assuming they would arrive by car.

The soft sand soon made him stop running and slow down, first to a brisk walk and then a slow stumble. He was almost at the end of his rope, panting from the exertion. His headache was back with a vengeance, and he could feel the drum of his heartbeat in his ears.

When he reached the hangout, he stopped and leaned against the rocks. He looked back at Calella. The town looked pretty, lights reflecting in the calm sea. Further along the coast line, more lights from singular houses up in the hills. A happy tourist place. He looked out to the sea.

A deadly hunting ground.

He reached behind his back and retrieved the gun, which had been chafing his back all the while he had been running. Now that he was standing still, he examined it. A Glock 23. Again, same make as the other two. He pulled out the magazine and checked the contents. Twelve bullets in the magazine, which meant one in the chamber. He put it back and stared out at the sea.

Carlos's yacht was out there. A boat...

"_...sometimes we take my father's boat, it's moored there too, about thirty meters from the coast..."_

He pushed himself away from the rock and started walking as fast as the soft sand and his pounding head would allow him. She had told him exactly where the boat was. He had known all this time. Still holding the gun in his hand, he rounded the rocks and looked at the narrow stretch of beach behind it.

They were right there. Jennifer, standing on the beach, next to two small suitcases and a sports bag. She had her arms wrapped round herself and stared at the sea. Alex followed her gaze. A small boat was approaching, it's engine softly spluttering in the quiet of the night. The man sitting in the back, holding the helm was clearly Jason Carnegie. He must have swum to the boat to get it, and was now returning to pick up his daughter and his luggage. Alex could see the water still dripping from the man's hair, glistening in the moonlight. He was wearing a dark t-shirt that clung to his chest as if it was wet. When he reached the beach, he stepped out of the boat into the water. Jennifer joined him, and together they pulled the boat further up on the beach.

Alex walked closer. They hadn't seen him yet, too engrossed with their work. He was in plain view now. Getting closer, he heaved up the gun and pointed it straight at Jason Carnegie. Fifteen meters. Twelve. Ten. Jennifer looked up.

"Alex," she gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth.

Her father, who was just bending over to pick up the sports bag, froze. He looked up and his eyes widened. Then he saw the gun. Slowly, he straightened, leaving the bag on the beach. He was standing behind the boat.

"Hands where I can see them," Alex said coolly, pointing the gun straight at him.

Carnegie raised his hands. Jennifer stared at him, and then turned to Alex.

"What are you doing?" she asked incredulously, "You're pointing a gun at my father!" She took a step into his direction. "Alex..."

"Jennifer, stay where you are," Carnegie said sharply. At the same time, Alex said, "Don't come any closer."

Jennifer shook her head. "You're not going to shoot me," she said, sounding convinced.

She stepped closer. Alex shifted his stance and pointed the gun at her. His heartbeat quickened. He shouldn't be pointing a gun at her. He had absolutely no intention of shooting her. Don't ever point a gun at someone unless you're prepared to shoot them, Ian had told him once. And his instructor at Scorpia, if you point a gun at someone, it means that you intend to shoot them with it. You might not do it. But the intention has to be there.

He couldn't do it. There was no way. But he had to let her believe that he would, he had to stop her. If she stepped any closer, she would place herself between him and her father.

"You won't shoot me, Alex," Jennifer said, "I know you. Your father put you up to this, didn't he."

Her foot moved. Now, he thought, now, stop her. He pulled the trigger. The noise of the shot echoed against the rocks. Sand splashed up right in front of her feet. She froze, face suddenly deathly pale.

"You don't know me," he said, trying to make his voice as cold as possible.

Show no emotion, he thought, don't let her see you're terrified. He stepped aside, to have both father and daughter better in his sight. His gun was still steady. He pointed it at Carnegie again.

"You were going to have us killed," he said, "Don't for a moment think I won't shoot. I can't miss you from here."

Carnegie shook his head and glanced at his daughter, whose eyes had gone wide with his remark.

"He's lying," he said, "I was going to call the police from Carlos's yacht. They'd have been free within the hour."

Alex rolled his eyes and looked at Jennifer again. She looked uncertain, glancing from him to her father and back.

"Daddy?" she asked.

"There were two of them," Alex said, still managing to keep the tremor out of his voice, "They had guns. They weren't going to bring us to the hospital, Jennifer. They were going to kill us. And your father, he's selling state secrets to terrorists. I will stop him, one way or the other."

Carnegie stood very still now, looking at Alex with a strange expression on his face. "What did you do with them?" he asked.

Seconds seemed like hours. A heartbeat, two, three. Say it, he thought, say it, you don't care, it's your job, they had it coming. They were thugs, traitors, evil people. Not somebody's son, brother, friend. You couldn't help yourself, you did it because that's what you were taught to do all your life, that's what you were born into. You joined Scorpia willingly, knowing what they were, what they did. Stop whining. There's no going back now.

"I killed them," he said. Voice still steady. Good.

Jennifer stepped back, placing a shaking hand before her mouth. She started shaking her head, looking from Alex to her father and back.

"I don't believe it," Carnegie said, shooting a worried glance at his daughter, "They were..."

"Professionals," Alex finished. A professional killer. With a neat round hole right between his eyes. Excellent shot, Alex.

Carnegie shook his head in irritation. "You're lying. Jennifer, he's lying. He has been lying to you all this time. I didn't... I had no choice."

"Dad, what did you do?" Jennifer asked.

Both Alex and Carnegie looked at her. Her hands were down by her side now, fists clenched. Her face was twitching, and a look of realization spread across her face.

"Jennifer...," Carnegie said a hopeless expression on his face. Then he turned back to Alex and looked intensely at him, seemingly searching for something.

"We're going to step into this boat now," he said slowly, "And you're going to let us go. You won't shoot, Alex. Come, Jennifer, come with me. I'll explain later."

Alex felt his mouth go dry. Somehow, Carnegie had seen through his act. He was right. He wouldn't shoot. But he couldn't let them go either. If he let them go, all would have been for nothing. He'd have failed. Names, Craig had said, names and addresses. Weapons systems. Whoever got a hold of them, they'd have free access, do whatever they liked. They couldn't relocate everybody, change security measures overnight. They'd be vulnerable for a considerable time to come. He could prevent all that.

Carnegie lowered his hands, bent down and picked up the last item on the beach, the sports bag. Alex kept his gun on him, still rock steady. Jennifer backed away, looking both afraid and determined.

What to do?

The conflict rose in him. Shoot. Don't shoot. His mouth twitched. Carnegie placed the bag in the boat.

Alex moved his arm slightly and pointed the gun at the engine. Quickly, he pulled the trigger five times, subconsciously counting the bullets. Six gone. Seven left. He pointed the gun at Carnegie again, who now looked at him in shock. Then he moved.

"No!" he yelled, jumping into the boat, "No! You didn't!"

He scrambled to the back of the boat and frantically tried to start the engine. Alex watched as he attempted again and again, pressing the button that should have turned it on. It was over now, he realized in relief, Carnegie couldn't get away now, and he hadn't had to shoot him. He glanced at Jennifer, standing beside the boat with her feet in the water, wringing her hands. After several more attempts, Carnegie stopped and leaned his hands on the edge of the boat, his head hanging. He had his back to Alex, so Alex couldn't see what he was doing, but the man's posture radiated defeat. He lowered the gun.

The expression on Jennifer's face should have alerted him, but he was tired and his head was throbbing. He just wanted it to be over so he could lay down and rest, and not wake up for at least two days. She stared at her father, a look of horror on her face. Her hand went to her mouth again.

Carnegie swirled. Enraged, he pointed his gun – the same gun with which he had subdued Alex the night before – at Alex. Alex started to raise his own gun again, too late, a lifetime too late. Everything seemed to slow down. Carnegie, gun aimed at Alex, ready to pull the trigger. Alex himself, still in the process of aiming his own gun. A shot rang out.

Jennifer screamed. A look of surprise settled on Carnegie's face as he looked down at his chest. The gun fell from his suddenly powerless hand. Then he simply toppled backwards into the water.

"Daddyyyy!"

Alex stared. Jennifer scrambled around the boat, splashed into the water and disappeared behind it. He turned around. Craig was standing there, his gun already lowered, face expressionless. Alex lowered his own gun and let it hang limply beside him. He couldn't speak, couldn't utter a single sound. Craig walked up to him.

"Stupid, Alex," he said, "How could you let him grab a gun like that? I thought you knew better than that."

He was right, Alex realized. He did know better than that. His shoulders slumped. He hadn't wanted to shoot the man, and now he was dead anyway. He looked at the boat, and at the struggling girl, trying to pull her dead father from the water.

"Help me," she cried, "Help me, he's hurt, he's dying, help me!"

Sobbing, she pulled him onto the beach, displaying a strength Alex hadn't thought she possessed. She fell down on her knees and cradled her father's head in her lap, stroking his wet hair.

"Wake up, daddy," she sobbed, "Wake up. You're all I have. Don't leave me."

She bent over and pressed her forehead against her father's. Craig watched quietly. Alex turned around and looked into the direction of the rocks and the light of the town behind them, feeling oddly detached. He couldn't see the town itself though, they were well out of sight. But surely somebody had heard the shots?

Craig seemed to have guessed what he was thinking, because he bent over and murmured, "The party down at the beach is quite loud. I doubt anybody heard anything."

Sure enough, now that Alex listened, he could hear the beat of loud music even here. He didn't really care though. Everything had gone to hell, the whole, as Mrs Jones had called it, easy, fun assignment had ended in this terrible tragedy and he couldn't quite put his finger on where exactly it had gone wrong. With his getting caught, probably. He should have been more careful. He looked at the gun Craig was holding, and noticed the slight tremor in the man's hands that was always there.

"I thought you couldn't shoot any more," he said.

Craig brought up his hand and examined the gun, a slightly satisfied smile on his lips. "So did I," he said, "But I guess from up close I'm still pretty accurate."

Jennifer had stopped rocking back and forth and was now silently looking down on her father. Then she looked up, straight at Alex.

"You killed him," she said, "I hate you. _I hate you!_"

* * *

_Alright. People with the pitchforks, stand in line on the right to take your turn on the dummy over there, while the other dummy (me) runs and hides._

_Thanks for reviewing the previous chapter: Emmy-loo, Ponyboy65, Jack's Sword, Sofer, A Bibliophile, Alo Amicus, Chaos Dragon, darkmoon999, Wolfmonster, arrowheadhunter, Jusmine._

_Short answers to my anonymous reviewers because I can't reply to you any other way and I have a burning desire to do so anyway:_

_Wolfmonster: I'm sorry to have upset you (I've probably upset you more now), but I disagree. They were there to kill him, and that man wouldn't have hesitated to shoot Alex. He had no other option there._

_Alo Amicus: This really is the end... well, not completely of course. There's the epilogue. Coming... soon.  
_


	16. Epilogue

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

He was sitting on the back of the bench, his feet on the seat. Jack would probably have scolded him for it, saying people sat there where he put his feet, but she wasn't there and the only thing she was able to do was make him feel slightly guilty for it. Not enough to move his feet though. He was comfortable as he was, sitting in the shade of a tree, a little bit away from the main pathways in the park. His notebook was resting on his knees, all but forgotten. The slight movement of his right hand, flipping his pencil was the only indication that he wasn't as calm as he appeared.

"_I hate you_."

People were passing by, shooting the lonely boy on the bench furtive glances, taking in his slightly battered appearance, the bruise on his face, his bandaged wrists. 'Troubled teen', they thought, and went on their merry way, dismissing the notion that there even was such a thing. If they acknowledged him, they'd have to do something about it after all. Better find another explanation than abused boy attempted suicide. Maybe he had been in a car crash. Maybe he fell through a glass door. Lots of explanations were possible.

Alex didn't care. He had given up hiding his injuries from other people. It was hot outside in the middle of London – over thirty degrees last time he checked one of those helpful thermometers on the side of buildings that depicted the time alternating with the temperature – and he was done wearing long sleeves.

"_You killed him._"

There had been no point in denying it. He hadn't actually pulled the trigger, but it had been his fault. He had been responsible. He had let down his guard, had thought it had been all over, when it clearly hadn't. He had just stood there in the darkness on the beach, swaying, feeling every bruise on his body and the annoying sand in his shoes, until Craig had grabbed him and had forced him to look away. _Go to the nearest phone booth, there's one near the train station that I know of, call this number. You won't have to put in any money. They'll know who you are. I'll take care of things here._

After that, everything had happened in a haze. A dark Volkswagen had picked him up about half an hour later from the steps of the railway station where he had been sitting, idly watching the people passing by. Two quiet men had gotten out, had each grabbed an arm and had heaved him into the car. They had brought him to an apartment somewhere in Barcelona, where he had slept for two days. Some doctor had checked him, had declared him fit to travel and, still in that same haze, he had flown back to London, to be picked up by an uncharacteristically silent Jack.

He looked down at his notebook, the neat thin grey lines, the pristine white between them. He had tried calling Sabina twice, but every time had pressed the cancel button before finishing typing in all the numbers. He had tried to email her, but somehow had ended up asking her lightly how she was. And now he was sitting here, in the park, thirty minutes after his debriefing with Blunt and Mrs Jones, trying to conjure up a letter. Hi Sabina, he thought, I think I'm in love with you. But then I almost cheated on you - although you can't really call it cheating if you're not together - and it's likely to happen again should we ever get together. Would you mind?

Would it happen again? He rubbed his eyes. Could he ever try to get close to some girl again, without seeing Jennifer's hate filled eyes? Could he live with himself if he did that, if Sabina really was his girlfriend? Would Sabina's face always somehow morph into that of Jennifer that night on the beach?

He thought about his mother. Had she minded? She must have known what his father did for a living, must have known that his work would involve... other women. He shuddered. Nobody thought about their parents that way. But then again, he had never known them. They were an abstract entity to him, parents, of course he had them, everybody had them, but he never knew them. He hadn't even known what his father had done for a living until recently.

Assassin.

Undercover, working for Scorpia. Never mind that he had to do it if he wanted to keep his cover. His father had killed. Many times. And he had been very, very good at it.

Like father like son.

"This is a war, kiddo," Craig had said, "People get killed in wars. People lose loved ones in wars. Think of yourself as one of those child soldiers in Africa or South America. They are no older than you are, many of them even younger."

"I though we lived in a civilized country."

Craig had laughed, and there had been a bitter edge to it. "Think again."

Standing in front of the Royal and General Bank after their debriefing, Craig had hesitated, and then had extended his hand, awkwardly, as if he expected Alex to ignore it. Alex considered it for a brief moment, but then took his hand and shook it.

"For what it's worth, I _am_ sorry," Craig said, "You having to kill that thug. Think of it this way, though. You're a survivor. It was them or us. You did an excellent job, nobody can fault you for what you did."

Alex noted that he didn't apologize for shooting Jason Carnegie. He looked Craig in the eyes and knew that the man didn't feel an ounce of guilt over it. He had simply done his job. Craig smiled at him, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"The mission was a success," he said, "You did good, Alex. You can't save everybody." He looked up and down the street, taking in his environment in the habitual movement of a man who was always on edge, always on the lookout for trouble.

"See you around, Alex," he said finally, then turned and walked away.

Alex watched him go. His hand gripped the strap of his backpack tightly. The mission had been depicted a success. Personally, he thought he had never failed so miserably in his entire life. Slowly, he turned into the other direction and started walking.

* * *

Mrs Jones watched as the tiny figures way down below on the street in front of the Royal and General Bank parted ways and turned back to Alan Blunt.

"You just granted Craig leave of absence," she said, "And we're already understaffed. Are you sure that's wise?"

Blunt looked thoughtfully at the pen he was twirling in his hands. "He's going to look for his wife," he said.

Mrs Jones sat down in her chair, placed her purse on her lap and started feeling around in it. "And you're just going to let him do that?" she asked, and then let out a small sound of satisfaction when she found a new roll of peppermint.

Blunt carefully placed the pen on the table, looked at it and then shifted it a little so that it aligned perfectly with the piece of white paper in front of him.

"Craig is slipping," he said, "He's not half as effective as he used to be. He made some serious mistakes down in Calella. Leaving Alex alone in that house, to name one of them, so he couldn't help him when he was found out. It almost jeopardized the whole mission. It was pure luck that they managed... _Alex_ managed to find the Carnegies again. Besides...." He pushed the stack of papers on the corner of his desk so that they were perfectly stacked again. "... Who knows what he'll turn up."

Mrs Jones had finished carefully unwrapping the top part of the roll and chucked a peppermint into her mouth. Then she folded the wrapping so that it was semi-closed again and put it back in her bag. She stood up, collected her files and walked to the door.

"The Carnegie girl," Blunt said, "Has she signed yet?"

Mrs Jones turned around and nodded. "She wants to put the whole thing behind her. She realizes that her making a fuss will have the truth of what her father did come out. She'll keep quiet. She signed the secrecy act this morning and was immediately released. She will arrive on Heathrow this afternoon, and an aunt will pick her up. We already did a thorough background check on the woman, and we have found some irregularities. They won't be hard to control." She hesitated. "Alex...," she said.

Blunt looked up, his face blank. "Yes," he said, "He has a minor concussion he needs to recover properly from. Let's give him a week."

He picked a file from the stack on the corner of his desk and opened it, thereby missing the look of dismay on Mrs Jones's face. Her mouth set in a thin line, she turned around and left the room.

* * *

Alex looked down at the name he had written down at the top of the page. Sabina. He underlined it. This shouldn't be hard. He had never had trouble talking to her before, in fact, one of the reasons he liked her so much was that she had made him feel comfortable. They had talked about anything and everything while he had stayed with her family, and it had never been awkward.

They had been just friends then.

Maybe... He looked up from his notebook and looked at the geese in the pond. Was he really in love with Sabina? Or was it just wishful thinking on his part, seeing feelings that weren't there... but why then did he think of Sabina when he was making out with Jennifer on the beach? _Why did his thoughts wander to Jennifer while trying to think about Sabina?_

With a confused growl, he closed the notebook. This wasn't going to work. Sabina was a fantasy, a could have been. She was living in California now, far, far away from him, and even if she liked him the way he liked her – of which feelings he wasn't so sure now any longer – the whole relationship thing was impossible anyway. But it was so much easier to think about her than to dwell on the things that had transpired not five days ago.

"_I hate you.._."

Yes, he really needed that, another nightmare, another addition to his long list of things to feel guilty about. On the plane back home, in a fit of morbidity, he had started a list of the people he had killed over the past one and a half years, but had stopped when he realized he didn't even remember all of them and the body count just got too high.

He got up and glanced at his watch. It was probably best to head home now, or Jack would get worried. He was supposed to rest in the afternoon, and he already felt the headache that plagued him when exerting himself too much surface again. Just from sitting in a park. Brilliant. Just brilliant.

Pushing his notebook in his backpack, he slowly started walking into the direction of the nearest underground station. He wondered how much rest he would get, how long MI6 would wait before calling on him again.

He gave them a week.

* * *

_Thanks for reading, putting this on your favourite list and/or putting this on alert. I was slightly overwhelmed by the number of reviews I got for the previous chapter. Thanks for reviewing:_

_Ferrelyn Zellaby, Emmy-loo, Sofer, Drayconette, Wolfmonster, arrowheadhunter, Alo Amicus, The smell of blood and sand, Ambrele, BlackFeatherz29, bookworm rider, Just me, SakuraCa, Chaos Dragon, darkmoon999, Ponyboy65, rhymneyfairies, Jusmine_

_References:_

_Safe cracking: http colon slash slash home dot howstuffworks dot com (replace the 'dot' with a real dot, the colon with a real colon and the slash with a real slash. Obviously)._

_Legal drinking age in Spain: I tried to look it up, but the sites contradict each other (nothing new there). Some say it's eighteen, some say it's sixteen. For the story, I went with the sixteen, because that's what it is where I live. As for entering clubs and discotheques, they usually have a minimum age of eighteen, but some have sixteen. Just so you know._

_As for Calella de Mar, I've been there. I've described it how I remember it, aided by google earth. The house on the hill isn't there though. The lighthouse is, as is the railway track, the beach and the rocks at the south end of it. The flamenco club comes straight out of my imagination._

_I'll be back..._


End file.
